


Welcome Home, Snow

by TheIceDragons



Series: The Wolf that steals the Dragon [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cousin Incest, Drama, F/M, Female Jon Snow, Fluff and Angst, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Melancholy, R plus L equals J, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-16
Updated: 2018-07-05
Packaged: 2018-12-26 09:45:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 38
Words: 43,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12056367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheIceDragons/pseuds/TheIceDragons
Summary: Lyarra Snow comes home after being fostered and Robb welcomes her.





	1. Chapter 1

Lyarra was finally back home, at Winterfell. She had felt a sense of warmth and familiarity as soon as she and her escort approached the gray ancient walls. It had been four years since she left to be fostered at Bear Island under the care of Maege Mormont. Lyarra had left her family and castle behind at two and ten name days, as she had finally had her moon blood and Lady Stark had insisted on Lord Stark to start looking into betrothals to finally get the stain on her family's honor out of her home. But Ned had a better alternative, and so a senight later Lyarra was sent off to be fostered at Bear Island, and after a while, she couldn't help but be happier for it. For she was happier there than she ever was at Winterfell.

She never was constantly reminded that she was a bastard or a symbol of her father's infidelity. She never was forced to constantly prove herself to anyone, forced to show them that she wasn't the stereotypical bastard that they were told stories of as children. Prove that she wasn't a villain, a whore, a murderer, a thief. The women at Bear Island never judged her based on her bastard status, and she was thankful for it.

Lyarra had come to accept the women as a family, only second to the Starks of Winterfell. Dacey and Lyanna were her sisters in every way they could be, all in but blood and name. She relished the moments when Dacey and she would practice their swordsmanship and swim in the river with Lyanna. And Maege was like the mother she never had. Would never have.

But alas, home is home. And Winterfell would always be her real home, despite the times she felt unwelcomed. So when her father had sent a raven to the Lady Mormont requesting that Lyarra be sent home, it would have been an understatement to say that she was anything but happy. When she had started packing, she began to reminisce about the times she had with her father and siblings.

She missed playing the High Harp for father in his solar, on those rare moments when he had enough time to pay attention to her. She missed willful little Arya Underfoot, with her dark messy locks and her dirt stained dresses. She remembered Robb and how they used to be as thick as thieves, until he got Theon that is, then he started to drift away and spent more of his time with Theon, much to Lady Catelyn's pleasure. But could Lyarra really fault him for finally having a boy around his age to play with? Not to mention with an even better status than hers, hostage being just above bastard. She remembered Bran, who you could always find dangling from a tree or climbing a tower, as sure footed as he was. She even missed proper Sansa, always trying to live up to her mother's southern expectations to become a proper lady. Lyarra didn't have many memories of Rickon, as he was only a year old when she left and was always under Lady Starks care for her to be around him, but as soon as she got back she would right that.

And home she was. As soon as she rode her black stallion into the gates of Winterfell, she was greeted with familiar sights and even more, slightly older, but familiar faces. Oh, how she missed them.

Later that night they would have a small feast to welcome her back home. With venison, honeyed duck, boiled vegetables, lemon cakes, with her favorite honeyed iced milk. All was there, well except Lady Catelyn but Lyarra didn't mind. The last thing she wanted was to be constantly under the gaze of Lady Starks cold stare.

She enjoyed the attention her family were giving her at the moment. With the constant questions on her experience at Bear Island.

Arya and Bran had the most ridiculous of questions.

"Do the women there really turn into she-bears?" Bran would ask curiously.

"No more than the women here can turn into she-wolfs."

"Did they let you practise with a sword Lya?" Arya would ask with hope in her eyes.

"Aye, they did little sister."

As the feast went on, she couldn't help but feel an intense gaze, but when she looked to where it was coming from, she saw no-one.

But soon the feast was over, and they were sent to their chambers to rest.


	2. Chapter 2

Robb POV

Today his sister was finally coming home, he didn't really know _how_ to feel about that though. Of course, he loved her, liked he loved all his siblings and would protect her from those that would want to do her harm, like all his sisters, but they weren't _really_ close. Not how they _used_ to be, and when she left it seemed to strain their relationship more. But he always attributed it to the fact that she was a girl, for he didn't dislike his sister.

He still remembered those times when they were little. When they would run around the Godswood and pretend their little sticks of wood were swords. Lyarra and Arya would be Ser Jo and Arry while Sansa would be the Maiden in need of saving and he would be the villain who captured her. The times when they would sneak out during the hour of the bat into the Godswood to strip down to their small clothes and take a dip in the hot springs.

He smiled at the memory as the gates to Winterfell began to open and his sister's retinue entered.

And by the gods the girl, no _woman_ , he saw come through was a far cry from the girl who left four years earlier. No longer was she the skinny little girl with the mop of curls and big dark eyes. Her skin wasn't pale anymore, instead, it took to a more ivory shade. Her face was long yet her chin was sharp and her cheek bones were high, lips full and pink like petals. And her eyes, _by the gods her eyes_ , they were a hazel of stormy gray and amethyst. Little Lya wasn't so little anymore either, her figure longer, lean and curvy. Her black dress hugging her womanly figure. He couldn't help but think ' _ **This is how Arya will look when she gets older**_ '. He imagined this was how his Aunt Lyanna had looked, and now he could understand why men would start a war for her.

Robb couldn't help but stare at her in awe, a blush creeping onto his face as she walked towards them, greeting everyone with a hug and kiss. And when she stopped to him, he could see the hesitation in her eyes, as he finally noticed that he was staring at her like an idiot and quickly tried to right it.

"Hello little Lya," he said with a small smile to assure her.

She smiled back as she wrapped her arms around him and he her, planting a kiss on his cheek. Her lips as _soft as velvet_ , body _hard_ and _toned_ , with the scent of _winter roses_ wafting off of her.

'Hello _big brother_." she whispered in his ear.

Gods help him.

The Gods did not seem to care about his plea. He could _hardly_ pay attention to his meal, most of his attention on _her_. He _knew_ his train of thought was _**wrong**_ , to think about her in this way, his _sister_. Yet, Robb hung onto her every word, more to just look at her rather than hear about she-bears or whatever it was Bran and Arya were asking her about.

But his stare must have been intense, for she stopped cutting her venison and turned his way as he quickly turned his head back to his food in panic. Father casting him a curious look as well as Theon.

Soon his attention was back on her, that is until Theon had once again _taken_ notice. The Others _take_ him, dammit!

"What's got your _attention_ , Stark?" he said in his usually cocky manner as he followed his line of gaze. Surprised to see it was Lyarra, he looked back to Robb, arching his eyebrow up in question.

But as he began to ask, Robb arose from his seat.

"Father, may I take your leave?" he asked desperately. The last thing he needed was Theon pestering him on his sudden _interest_ in Lyarra. And the Gods must have heard his earlier plea because his father allowed his leave.

As he entered his chamber, and laid across his furs, his thoughts wandered to Lyarra again. His sister had truly become a beauty, _a true northern beauty._

Suddenly he felt an urge to go and see her, to become _familiar_ with her again as he once was as a child, to talk to her about _anything and everything_ how they used to. After all, they haven't seen each other in nearly five years, and so much has happened and they have all changed. He _isn't_ the same little boy he was and she _isn't_ the same girl, they are practically strangers now. He remembered her saying she learned how to use a sword, perhaps they can spar on the morrow, after his lessons. He remembered how much she always wanted to join in during his practice sessions when they were younger, how he would give her secret lessons in the woods to make up for the fact that she couldn't. ' _ **Just like the old times,**_ ' he thought as a smile graced his face ' _ **That would be nice...Mayhaps I should go ask her.**_ '


	3. Chapter 3

Robb POV

The next morning he sat next to Lyarra as he broke his fast, determined to get some of her free time before she made other plans for the day.

"Lya…?"

"Oh! Yes Robb?" she had abruptly stopped eating her meal to look up at him, her face in surprise.

'Did she even notice I was here?' he had thought before shaking his head to clear the thought away.

"Good morning," he said, with a warm smile on his face.

"Morning, Robb" she said in a tone of question. Her hazel eyes meeting his blue.

He hesitated before he said "I was wondering if-Well you know, if you had any plans for the day?"

If he had thought she was surprised before, she really was surprised now.

"What?" she asked, taken aback.

'Should I have asked that differently?' he thought but before he could apologize she beat him to it.

"I apologize! I didn't mean it like that, it's just-nevermind. No, I don't have plans for today. Not really, I was going to go for a ride in the Godswood but that's all. Did you have anything in mind, Robb?"

"Well, yes." he hesitated again before he started "Would like to-You know, spar? Well after my lessons of course."

She cocked her head, as she smiled in a playful manner "Spar? You're inviting me to spar?"

"Why yes, yes I am." he said matter of factly, in that same playful tone.

"Why of course, I'd love to spar with you, my lord," she said rather properly, mocking that of a proper lady.

"In the Godswood then, my lady?"

She threw her head back in laughter. "Yes Robb, in the Godswood."

Lyarra POV

Later that day they would head out to the Godswood.

The sun was just beginning to set, the horizon was a painted canvas of purples, oranges and specks of blue, the sun drowning beneath it all, as a crescent moon began to peak out. Casting a vibrant hue onto the Godswood, making it seem all the more unearthly and hunted.

The ancient woods was one of the things that Lyarra had missed especially, when she had left Winterfell behind. It made it all the more special to be within it again, with her brother Robb. To say the least, Lyarra was shocked when Robb had made the offer to spar in the godswood together. In fact, she hadn't _really_ expected him to interact with her often on her return. She was _touched_ that he had thought about her, truly she was. But she couldn't help but think it odd that he had had a sudden change of heart in regards to him spending time with his bastard sister.

They had rode deep into the woods, making sure to make a great distance between them and those that resided in the castle, lest they be interrupted.

" Let's see if your lessons have payed off, little sister," Robb had said, with a teasing smirk, as he gathered the wooden swords within his satchel.

"You know, I'm not really your 'little sister'," she had said with a smile of her own " You're older than me by a few months, but nothing too serious" her hand waved with nonchalant attitude.

Robb simply gave a shrug as he tossed her the sword.

He had given her a run for her money, which was expected, as he _was_ stronger. But what she had lacked in strength, she made up for, with swiftness and speed. Practically doing dances around him with every turn and swing. Matching him, parry after parry for his heavy blows. But then again, _he was strong_ and ended up landing a blow to her wrist, making her loosen her grip on the sword out of shock and slight pain. Long story short, she fell on her arse.

As much as she wanted to be annoyed by her loss, she couldn't help but smile as she rose up her hands in surrender, "I yield!"

He had given her his usual confident, yet warm, smile. Robb had such a _nice_ smile.

"You know," he said as he offered her his hand " You're not that bad, _little sister_ "

She had took his hand into hers.


	4. Chapter 4

Robb POV

They'd continue on like this. Everyday Robb would attend his lessons and chores and after a while Lyarra would have her lessons with maester Luwin. Then, as the sun would begin to set, they would head out to the Godswood and spar.

It had been a moon since Lyarra returned, and Robb had made it his _mission_ to get close to her again. They seemed to talk about everything with each other, do everything with each other when they had the time, almost as if she'd never left to begin with.

It was full moon in the sky by the time they were finished with their regular spar session. They sat down as he pulled out a canteen filled with watered wined and passed it to Lyarra before taking some himself, mostly out of guilt. He had been particularly _aggressive_ during this session, leaving her a sweaty panting mess.

As Robb looked at her, he noticed her releasing rapid breaths. Her face was red and hair messy and he saw beads of sweat rolling down her neck. When he looked further down he began to realize that her tunic was loose and half unbuttoned, her chest nearly exposed and her buds were hard, pressing against the fabric.

She _must_ have taken notice to, because she hastily crossed her arms over her chest in embarrassment. Lyarra looks so _adorable_ when she's embarrassed.

The thought put a smile on his face as he continued to stare. She took notice of that as well.

"What are you _smiling_ about?" she had said, half annoyed and half curious.

Robb simply shrugged in response. "Nothing" he said.

Robb couldn't help but feel this way about her. Couldn't help but notice every little thing from her shy smiles to her curly hair. Or how she looked after every spar they had, like she just had a long hard fuc-

He had paused mid thought, as a blush arose on his face. ' _ **She's my sister, she's my sister, she's my blood, she's my sister'**_ he thought repeatedly, face heating in shame.

But that _is_ how she looked and perhaps that was why he was becoming more aggressive in their spars. Because he _liked_ that look, and he liked the fact that _he_ made her look that way. And yet he wanted more, wanted to see beneath her loosened tunics or fitting dresses. Robb wanted to see _her. All_ of her.

He wanted to get the thoughts out of his head,but with the way she was breathing cheeks tinted red and her tunic clung to her sweating form, hair in disarray like she'd just been fuc-well he just couldn't stop himself from asking. If only he could see more of her, if he couldn't have her.

"Remember when we were little, Lyarra," he had begun "When we used to take dips in the hot springs?"

Her eyes had bored into his with an intensity. "Of course I remember Robb" she turned her head to look off into the distance. "How couldn't I ?"

Silence had never been so thick, until he shattered it. He was determined, he had already brought it up, he wasn't backing out now.

"Have you-" he paused, before he started again "Do you ever think about doing it again?"

She gave a startled "What?"

"You know, going to the hotsprings, how we used to."

Silence, again. He broke it, again.

"We should ,you know. Just you and me. It'd be like the old times…" He said looking down into his calloused hands, fiddling with his fingers.

She looked at him again, her gaze unwavering and intense as the first. Eyes darkening, with- with something he's never seen in her eyes before. He wonders if his eyes are similar.

She never broke it, as she said "Yes Robb. Let's do that."

His hands were shaking. He wondered if it was from fear or anticipation, perhaps both.


	5. Chapter 5

_**AN:NSFW** _

Robb POV

They stood there, staring at the steaming pool of water intently. He was going to see his _sister_ _naked_ and she him. He couldn't believe he was actually doing this, couldn't believe that _they were actually doing this_. In the Godswood no less.

Well, in actuality, they haven't _really_ done anything wrong that would make the gods condemn them. No sins have been committed. That's what he kept telling himself but in truth he knew that there was no point in pretending that this wasn't what it was. There was no point in lying to the gods of old ( they'd see right through it), let alone lie to himself.

Robb began to have thoughts of doubt and feelings of shame. But as soon as they started to come, he pushed them away. There was no point in stopping now, not when he'd already given her the thought, had set that type of mood between. The type that shouldn't be between brother and sister. There was no coming back from this if he stopped them now, things _wouldn't_ be the same between them after, so he might as well go _all the way_. All the way to whatever it was that they were doing.

Besides, Theon had told him that he'd came here plenty of times with some girl. But then again, it was _Theon_ , and these weren't _his gods_ , and the girl _wasn't_ his sister.

He had started having thoughts of apprehension again, until-until he _saw_ her. _Saw her in all her glory_.

Her _lean, curvy figure, naked_ in front of him.

Robb had no more feelings of apprehension and shame after that, as he began to feel himself harden.

Lyarra folded her arms over her chest again, unsure of herself. "Um...Robb," she started "Are you going to…"

"Yes!" he had said abruptly, leaving her question unfinished, before composing himself.

" I mean, yes. Sorry."

He started to fumble with his breaches, hands shaking again, until he had them off starting on his tunic soon after. Naked as the day he was born, he couldn't help but blush. She couldn't either, as her eyes wandered his body and his eyes wandered hers. She looked to ground in embarrassment after the fact.

She seemed to delve deep into thought, warring with herself over something. Before a shy little smile crept onto her face. Curious he begin to ask her what for, but before he could get it out she had did the _unpredictable_. And jumped into the hot spring, a laugh on her lips as water splashed about from the impact. Getting on him in the process, leaving his hair a dripping mess.

Lyarra dipped her head back in laughter and it sounded so _sweet_ to his ears.

"Hah Hah," he said, mocking laughter " Very funny, little sister."

"Are you coming in, _big brother_?" she said, in that _playful_ tone of hers, cocking her head to the side.

That had did nothing to help his semi- erection and it only brought embarrassment to him when her eyes fell on _it_.

He didn't even _notice_ himself move, before half of his body was in the pool.

She gave him another smile before laying her upper body back against the water to float, eyes closed out of satisfaction. Her pink nipples were erected from the cold air. He couldn't help but wonder what it would taste like or how it would feel in his mouth or beneath his fingers. As his eyes traveled downwards they graced the flat of her stomach and he couldn't help but feel the urge to wrap his hands around it. And then his eyes wandered further down, landing on the patch of dark curly hairs between her legs and he couldn't help but want to taste her.

His eyes traveled back up to her face, and he nearly jumped, to see her staring him directly in the eyes. To say the least, the silence was awkward, as she stared at him and he at her. That was until she lifted herself up, legs sinking back into the water, as she came toward him. Until their faces were mere inches apart. Her eyes began to study his face looking for something. She had seemed to find it as she began to speak, before pausing as she stared at him with hesitancy. Then she started again " You know-" she paused again looking down at her hands before bringing her sight back up to him, " I've missed you, Robb."

"I've missed you to, Lya. " he said with a small smile forming on his lips.

"I just-I just wanted to thank you for spending time with me."

"Of course." _Why wouldn't he?_

"It's just that...I know you'd rather be with Theon sometimes. And I don't blame you for that! I'm- I'm just glad we've started spending time together again. And I..." she trailed off her sentence as she bit her bottom lip.

"Yes?"

"Love you. _I love you, big brother_." She said with a shaky breath.

He had stared at her for a long moment, contemplating on everything she'd just said to him before time itself seemed to stop as he found himself pressed against her, his lips taking hers hungrily.

He wrapped his hands around her waist and her hands gripped his shoulders as he guided her to the edge of the pool. His lips began to trail down her neck to her collarbone until finally it landed on her breast as he started to suck and lightly bite on her pink bud.

Before he knew it, they weren't even in the hot springs anymore. Instead they were laid out on the grass and dirt, his head between her legs, _licking_ and _sucking_ and _dipping_ his tongue inside of her as she whispered his name. Her long fingers gripping his curls as she frantically bucked her hips toward him. He gently removed her hands from his hair, lifting up his head in the process, then bringing up her hips placing a kiss on the lips between her legs. Then bringing her body back down as he trailed kisses further up her body until he finally placed a kiss on the lips on her face.

"You taste so sweet, little sister," he said as he placed his fingers between her legs, slipping them into her moist opening,his other arm resting near her head for support. In and out he went, making sloppy wet noises in the process.

"Yes…" she squealed, lips parted and eyes closed in _bliss_.

Then suddenly her body began to _tremor_ and her clit _twitch_ , clenching around his thick fingers.

"Gods Lyarra," he whispered. There was once again silence before she spoke again.

"Robb?" she said shakily.

"Yes?" he said, staring down at her angelic face.

She shyly looked at him "Can-Can I do you?"

"You mean…?"

"Yes, if you'd let me." she gave him another one of her small smiles.

He nodded his head in response as he awkwardly brought himself up from atop her. Lyarra then lifted her body up, positioning herself to squat and bend her knees on wobbly legs.

He stood there before her, his erection pressed against his lower abdomen. She then slowly reached out for it, wrapping her slender fingers around his cock. Lyarra jerked her hand up and down his shaft, going painfully slow, not really sure of herself. Robb covers her hand with his to guide her, trying but failing to hold back a husky groan, "Like this, Lya,". Pre-cum began to drip from his head, adding to the fast paced friction of her hand. "Just like this," he whimpered, closing his eyes from pleasure. Robb had never had someone else touch him, usually doing it himself.

Suddenly, he felt something wet and warm around him and looked down to find it was her mouth. She began bobbing her head back and forth, taking all she could fit into her mouth and using her hand to work on the part that she couldn't. He closed his eyes again as he ran his fingers through her curly hair, gripping it to hold it back as he began thrusting into her mouth almost wildly.

" _Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._ ". His voice echoed throughout the woods and he _hoped_ no one was near. The sounds of _slurping_ , _grunting_ , _panting_ and _skin on skin_ rung through the air. After a while, a pressure began to build up inside, getting stronger with each _stroke_ and _thrust_. Until finally, he _burst_ , black little dots covering his vision.

Their bodies were both coated in _sweat_ and _cum_ , and his seed was dripping from her bow lips before she swallowed it.

He couldn't stop himself from collapsing on the ground from exhaustion. She couldn't either.


	6. Chapter 6

**_AN:NSFW_ **

Lyarra POV

She didn't know what the _hell_ she was doing.

After that night, with Robb, well _obviously_ nothing was the same between them and she hoped no one else would pick up on it, _especially_ father.

Every day they'd continue like this, it had become apart of their routine. Everyday Lyarra would break her fast, then have lessons with maester Luwin, she'd join in in one of Septa Mordane's sewing sessions when the old women would have her. Anything to keep her mind off of what the night would bring, what always awaited her, had been for months now. To keep her mind going and focusing on anything but _him_. Or _them_. Because the mere thought sent heat to her lions and heat to her face and the last thing she needed was to get hot and bothered a front of people. Especially men or the likes of Theon.

Then when the sun began to set, she and Robb would ride out into the Godswood. But instead of sparring, they would...do _something else_.

He'd press her against a tree, lifting up her dress, and start pleasuring her with his fingers. Or she would get on her knees and take him in her mouth.

But soon-soon it wasn't _enough_. At least not for Robb.

It had just become night, when she finished her lessons, and went to her chambers. When she finally got to her door, she wasn't surprised to see Robb standing across from it, figure leaning on the wall and arms crossed, with that familiar smile. He leans off the wall and walks toward her.

"Lyarra,"

"Robb," she said as she opened the door to her chambers. She turned around to look at him as she walked in. "Are you coming in?"

His eyes looked into hers, only for a moment, before he came in too. And as soon as the door was closed and barred, he was on her like a wolf on its prey. Attacking her lips and neck with his lips. Roughly pushing her down onto her bed. He was always so _rough_. He always _roughly_ kissed, _roughly_ touched, _roughly_ shed her of her clothing, and _roughly_ _**took**_ her mouth. Even now, as he spreads her legs open, his breeches down his ankles. And suddenly she realizes what he means to do. She closes her legs in panic.

"No, not that," she says, eyes wide in fear " _Anything_ but that!"

"I promise I'll be gentle,"

She looks at him, face a mixture of aghast and disbelief at his words, because _surely_ he couldn't believe that himself. She lifts herself up with her elbows.

"Robb," she starts " You can't possibly believe that."

He opens his mouth to protest but she interrupts. "You're never gentle. _Never_. You're always _rough_ and _demanding_ and _aggressive_. And besides, I don't plan on losing my maidenhead any time soon. Not even to _you_."

Hurt flashed in his eyes, before disappearing completely, as he nodded his head in recognition and continued on. Then buried his head between her legs while stroking himself. Finally, she leaned back relaxing, letting her fingers run through his red curls. He was being gentle, for now.

But soon it didn't last. His fingers found her entrance, thrusting in and out as he stroked himself madly, still licking. Robb then hungrily placed kisses upon her abdomen and breast. It reminded her of their first night together. She smiled at the thought and Robb kissed her for it when he noticed.

Staring down at her with a _look_ she couldn't really place, his eyes searching hers deeply.

"You should do that more often you know,"

"Do what?" she asked curiously, looking back into his.

"Smile." He said finally after a long moment.

"I do, well sometimes at least," she responded.

"Only around the people you trust,"

"Mayhap that's a good thing," she said, her voice low.

A few seconds pass before his lips are back on _hers_ , his chest pressed against _hers_ , his groin pressed against _hers_ moving in circular motions. The head of his erection sliding up and down her slit, but never entering.

She broke his kiss, panting in the process, "Robb, _what_ are you doing?"

He flushed, then stuttered out "N-Nothing," he paused. " I'm just-just-" but his sentence was cut of by a low moan escaping his throat. "Just let it happen," she began to protest but he cuts her off "I won't do anything, I swear." he says, as he flips her on her stomach knocking the breath right out of her. Then raises her up to him, almost like she's a doll, and presses her back to his chest slipping the roof of his shaft between her silky wet thighs.

And gods did it feel _good_. ' _ **So good**_.' That's what she kept repeating in low panted breaths and whimpers. Robb had to bury his head in the crook of her neck, then in her curly hair, to drown out his. His pace had started out slow, _painfully_ slow. Until Lyarra moving her hips along with his, prompting him to go _faster_ and _harder_ and _rough_ how he liked it, gave him all the encouragement he needed. Taking back all those words she had said earlier. Replacing those words with _dirtier_ ones, the _nasty_ kind. The kind that shouldn't come out of a ladies mouth, but then again she wasn't a lady, not truly. And so she let them spill through her lips, albeit as low as possible. The last thing they needed was for someone to walk past and hear it. They would no doubt figure out what was going on behind the closed door.

His hands _gripped_ her breast and _twisted_ her pink puds and it had sent a _strange_ _twinge_ , a very _strange jolt_ through her body, that made goosebumps cover her skin. ' _ **What a weird feeling that was**_ ,' she had thought, ' _ **but it's one of the good kinds**_.' _The kind_ that she feels right now, _the kind_ that she felt during their first time together, _the kind_ that is currently making her body _tremble_ against his. She looks down, and see's his cock, the head just poking out between her thighs, before slipping back in between them, as she squeezed them a little harder. There were times when he _almost slipped_ into her, times were he nearly _broke_ her maidenhead, but she was too high on euphoria to even care at the moment.

Then she felt _it._ That strong pressure building within her, and she could tell Robb felt it to, because his thrust were becoming sloppy, his grips and pinching of her breast aggressive and then he-he bit _down_. On her neck. _Hard._ And then she _exploded_. On everything. On him, her, the furs. Her throat erupted in moans, and no matter how high on euphoria she was, Lyarra couldn't help but feel embarrassment. She must have been loud to, because Robb quickly pushed her into the furs, where she buried her moans, as she came and came and came again. And she's never felt anything like _this_. Not when she used to touch herself, not even when they first touched each other, or any of the numerous times they went out into the godswood after. Her vision was nothing but a cloud of white before slowly morphing into little black dots, then clear again. She was vaguely aware of the fact that Robb was _still_ going, his strong hands gripping her wide hips with an iron grip. Sometimes he'd smack her round rear in the process. The sound of skin meeting skin a constant ringing, and she _really_ hoped no one walked pass her door. Until finally she felt a warm liquid seep between her thighs and heard a deep throaty moan. Her mind was clouded. Even though they hadn't _really_ had sex, the smell was still in the air, thick with it even and it was so _warm_. She's never felt this _hot_. Robb collapsed on top of her, adding to her heat but she found that she really didn't mind. He wrapped his arms around her form. Sleep overcame her, and as her eyelids feel heavy, she hoped he would stay with her until dawn.

And he was the first thing she saw, when she opened her eyes _. Stark grey meeting Tully blue._


	7. Chapter 7

Cat POV

She _hates_ it. She hates the fact that within a span of weeks _alone_ her son and the bastard were close again. Even after all this time of her being away, after how distant they had become years before, in the end they were _still close_.

Catelyn knew her thoughts were petty, and sometimes, when she saw how loving the bastard was toward her children and how they loved her in return, she would feel nothing but shame. Shame and guilt. Because what woman could be so _cold_ and cruel to a motherless child, blame the child for the actions of a man who broke _his_ vows and an anonymous woman the child would _never_ know. She'd feel these things, the guilt and the shame, and it'd make her resent the girl all the more, for making her feel this way. Then Catelyn would try to justify it and feel horrible after, it was a viscous cycle that would never end. _Could_ never end.

Not when Ned looked at the bastard with so much _longing_ , so much _sorrow_. He _must have loved her_ mother so. Did the Snow child look so much like her mother? So much that she was a walking reminder of what Ned once had, as much as she was a walking reminder of Ned's dishonor to Catelyn? That must be the case. And it made her all the more bitter. Because despite how she felt about the bastard, she couldn't deny the fact that the girl was beautiful, even as a child she was. Her hair is an inky black and falls to her back in curls, her bow lips are plump and cheeks high as well as rosy, and her eyes are a mixture of grey and damson. Evidence of her _Valyrian_ ancestry despite her Stark coloring. ' _Daughter of Ashara Dayne_ ', the maids had whispered. _For who else could have helped sire such a beauty?_ Her looks certainly didn't come from Ned. Her husband had ended those whispers and she'd never forget the night she tried to broach the subject of Snow's mother. But Ned ending those rumors never _erased_ them from her mind, never stopped those endless nights of staring into her mirror comparing her features to that of the child's mother and she _never_ had to imagine what the woman who stole her husband's heart looked like, all she had to do was look at the bastard she had created with her husband. That very _beautiful_ bastard, far more fairer than her Sansa, although Cat would never admit it out loud.

So fair she _always_ garnered her son's attention. She would constantly see Robb sending the bastard _looks_. At first she paid it no mind. Just wrote it off as a brother admiring his sister's beauty and hoping someday he can find the same in his own wife, although that made Catelyn very annoyed. ' _He should be looking at Sansa like that',_ she had thought.

Until-until she saw the _looks_ the bastard would give in return. Saw the way they brushed each other's hand when they thought no one was looking, saw the discrete kisses on the cheeks and the faint blushes. And when they'd break their fast together or have dinner, those _knowing_ _smiles_ they gave each other. Like they were _in_ on something that no one else knew about, a _dirty little_ _secret_ that everyone else is oblivious to.

Perhaps this was Catelyn's jealously taking over but, no. _**No**_. She _knows_ her son, she knows when he's interested in someone, knows when he has a crush on a certain girl, knows how he acts and looks at said girl. And Catelyn may not know the bastard well, but she remembers what it was like to be a young girl. To be enamoured with someone, how she was enamoured with Brandon Stark. Their behavior reminded her of her first night with Ned and the morning _after_. Reminded her of the shy smiles and stares they would give each other when they shared their marriage bed later on. That was _not_ how she wanted Robb to look at Sansa.

Something was amiss, she could _feel_ it, _sense_ it like a natural instinct. Perhaps it was because she was a woman or a mother, maybe even both. An intuition to know when your children were up to something. But she knew and she didn't like it. He was _infatuated_ with her and she him. Catelyn could be wrong, _very wrong_. Could be blowing this out of proportion and reading too much into natural sibling affection. And for that she wouldn't bring it up with Ned, the last thing she needs is a repeat of what happened when she tried to talk about the bastards mother. But she _would_ be keeping an eye on those two.


	8. Chapter 8

Lyarra POV

She couldn't help but feel shame and disgust as she looked on at her lord father. His kind eyes and small gentle smile, as he passed her her mother's necklace. It was silver, made from northern steel, the pendant was a metal winter rose engraved with blue diamonds. It was beautiful. " _Just like you."_ he had said.

If only he knew she wasn't _any_ of those things. She wasn't as hard as northern steel, like she'd have most people believe, with her brooding stare or her prowess with a sword. She wasn't a diamond or even a winter rose. She was a _bastard_ , and the worst kind. ' _A filthy disgusting bastard, proving the world right about you_.' ,the thought put a grimace on her face.

Lyarra didn't deserve this, she knew. But it's her name day gift and it's been _so_ long since she's received one with so much significance. By the gods, it belonged to her _mother._ Father never talked about her mother, let alone _gave_ Lyarra things that once belonged to her.

 _Belonged. Once._ Those were the words that shook her the most. " _It once belonged to your mother."_ , that's what he had said. And that only signified one thing. Her mother was **dead.** Lyarra would never meet her, never hold her or talk to her. She would never know a mother's love, how her siblings _knew it_. Deep down inside, she knew the possibility of her ever meeting the woman that birthed her into this world were slim to none. But she had _hoped._ Hoped that her mother was out there somewhere, waiting for her daughter to return to her. She wouldn't care if Lyarra was a bastard and Lyarra wouldn't care less if she was a fisherman's daughter or a Lyseni whore or even a noblewoman from the Crowlands. Lyarra just wanted a mother and now she knows she'll never have one. She can't help but feel depressed. But she smiles back at her father anyway and takes this gift. The only thing she'll ever have or know of her mother. The woman _must_ have liked winter roses. At least she knows they had that in common, because she adores them to. That thought brings about a genuine smile as she takes her leave from her father's solar.

Tonight they had another small dinner in her honor, something _else_ she felt she didn't deserve. But she would make it up to them by playing her harp. It's been awhile since she's done so and her siblings always regarded it as a treat to hear her play, even Sansa with how much she adored music.

She had announced that she would play "The Night That Ended", one of her favorites, about the brave men of the Nights Watch riding out to fight the Others in the Battle for Dawn. Lyarra put the instrument between her thighs resting her head on its surface and positioning her fingers over the strings, then she begun, her eyes shut. And in that moment, it was as if she was the only person in the hall. Just her and her harp, and she loved the way she could get lost into it. Lost into each stroke of a string or note her voice hit. Nothing else mattered, not her desire for Robb, not the fact that she was a bastard, or her mother was dead. Nothing. Just the images the song painted in her mind. And then it was over, the moment gone as the song closed.

When she opened her eyes, she saw a numerous amount of expressions. Her younger siblings had expressions of delight while Robb had a look of longing and want, one she was all too familiar with. Father was under a spell of melancholy, his eye's as if he'd just seen a ghost. While Lady Catelyn, who Lyarra is surprised even bothered to show up, glares at her with an intensity. As if she was trying to figure something out, but just couldn't seem to get it. But Lyarra was also familiar with those expressions as well. Theon, another person Lyarra is surprised to see but was no doubt dragged along by Robb, looked at her with an expression of awe before going back to his usual cock-sure appearance.

The hall was silent before Sansa broke its spell. "That was beautiful Lyarra," her face lit with glee and hands applauding "I didn't know you had a silver-tongue. You must teach me how to play the harp as well as you do.".

Lyarra is shocked by her sudden praise before throwing her a smile "Of course," she paused before chancing a look at Lady Stark, "As long as it's alright with your mother.".

Lady Catelyn looks as if she wants to scream _no_ , but Sansa's eyes are pleading, and she gives in, nodding curtly in approval.

"I want to learn to!", Arya adds in eagerly before throwing Sansa a _nasty_ look, not willing to give up her favorite sibling to her _least_ favorite. Lyarra wonders if she'd still be her favorite if she knew what her older sister did with their brother.

"Of course Arya," she says, lips tight in a smile not quite reaching her eyes.

She headed to her chambers after the dinner was over, mind in deep thought, until she felt arms wrap around her waist from behind and that familiar kiss on her neck. "Robb!," she nearly shouted, as she hastily escaped his embrace before turning to face him. "Are you mad? You can't just-just _grab_ me like that, not where someone can see us, where they can come right around the corner," she agitatedly whispers.

"I know. I'm sorry," he says, eyes apologetic. And it's enough to soften her composure. "I have a gift for you Lyarra," he gives her a warm smile, " I've been saving it for last, waiting until you received your other gifts."

Her eyes lighten up in response,"Truly?".

"Aye. Truly, come on." he says as he grabs her hand and leads her outside the keep. Until they're a front of Mikken's armoury. "Wait here," he walks in and a few moments pass before he walks back out, a newly forged sword in hand.

A smile threatens to break her solemn surface, as he places the pommel in her hands. It's a snarling white wolf with blue roses for eyes and the exterior of the sword is smooth and solid, made from northern steel. She balances it in her sword hand and gets used to the weight and length of it. She takes her eyes off the sword and looks back at him, eyes watery "Robb…" she pauses for a moment before continuing on, "Thank you, brother.".

"Anything for you, Lyarra," he says, before placing a kiss on her forehead. "Come on, let's go to my room, I have another surprise," he throws an arm around her shoulder as they walk back into the keep.

"Oh," she lifts an eyebrow in mock question "And what's that?"

He leans his head down to whisper in her ear, "Wineskins,"

Her eyes widen at that, because they're only ever allowed to drink wine during feast, and only one cup. "How in the seven hells did you manage to get wine?"

"Theon." Oh, well that makes sense, she thought.

Soon, they're in his chamber and she lays her new sword across his desk before plopping onto his bed of furs as he gets his stash of wine. He opens it up, as he sits next to her drinking some before passing it to her. It was honeyed and warmed her stomach like liquid fire. "Good, isn't it?" he says, lips quirked in a smirk.

"Aye. But ale is better." She offers the wine back.

"Aye, it is better," he takes the skin and takes another swig. "How does it feel to be seven and ten?"

" The same, I guess. I don't feel any different from how I felt yesterday.".

"And yet you're officially a woman grown,"

"I've been a woman grown for a while know…"

He looks into her eyes as he says "I know," he passes the skin back to her.

She meets his gaze as she takes it "Soon you'll be the lord of Winterfell, now that you're a man grown,"

He grimaced as he said "Hopefully not too soon. The gods know I'm not ready despite what everyone else believes,"

She gently smiles at him as she says, "You'll do fine, Robb. I know you will." He bites his lower lip, before smiling in return. It felt nice, the simplicity of the moment. Like taking a step out of the world they've built for their forbidden affair. How it _used_ to be, and she didn't realize how much she missed just talking with him, like siblings instead of lovers.

They went on like this, taking turns between the wineskins until they were dizzy with drunkenness. So drunk, she lays back on furs, closing her eyes in content. Until she felt a firm hand pressed between her thighs, rubbing up and down. Her eyes shot open, to find Robb sending her that same look of longing and want.

"Robb…" she silently protested, face forming a frown in her drunken daze. ' _No. No. Not now',_ she had thought. She just wanted things to be normal, how it was only moments. Where she didn't feel ashamed or disgusted with herself for simply talking to her brother.

"Lyarra, please," his hand traveled further up between her legs, lifting her skirts in the process. Despite her feelings, her body responded, as if it knew how to react when touched by him. His hand slipped into her small clothes as his fingers played with her, constantly moving in circular motions. Her lips parted as her breathing grew rapidly, and her hand shot down to rest above his, guiding him to further stir her on. Was it possible to feel disgust and arousal _at the same time?_ To want and to reject something _all at once_? To feel shameful and shameless _all in one moment?_ Because that's what she felt, as she threw her head back to let out a barely suppressed moan and pulled her legs back to rest above her stomach and give their hands better access. She imagined that it wasn't his fingers that were entering her womb but him instead, _all_ of him. ' _This has to be the last time.',_ she thought. Then he moved his hand and she whimpered and begged him to continue. But he just got up and walked away. She laid her legs back onto the bed, defeated and unsatisfied. And she couldn't help but feel _pathetic_. Until he came back with a jar of rose oil in hand and she didn't even care about what he planned to do to her, just that he hurry up and do it.

Robb started stripping her of her clothing before taking some of the oil and rubbing her body down, putting a considerable amount on her rear. It felt so _good_ , to feel his _big strong_ hands massaging her body. She didn't even notice him strip his clothes as well. Gods, her mind was in a haze, it was drifting constantly.

He flipped her on her stomach and climbed on top of her form, one hand holding down both of her wrist and the other on his member. It was bulging and angrily red, veins protruding. It has never looked so big. And it feels big to, as it slips inside of her.

She's filled with excitement and alarm, for a moment thinking her maidenhead is gone, until she realizes it isn't her womb that he's entered, it's her- _her arse_. _Sodomy_. That's what's happening. It's _inside_ of her. He's _inside_ of her. Inch by inch she feels herself stretching open, and it hurts. It's not nearly enough oil on her or him, and it _hurts_. She buries her face in his furs to smother her cries of pain. Until she can't take it anymore, because he's _still_ trying to fit all of it inside of her and it feels as if it's ripping her into two. "Please, Robb stop!" she nearly screams at the top of her lungs and she doesn't _care_ if anyone else hears, as long as _he_ hears.

"Lya-", she doesn't give him the chance to soothe her or convince her otherwise.

"I don't care! It hurts," she moans in agony, "Let go of me! What is wrong with you?" she shouts, trying to wriggle out of his grip, but before she can, he abruptly let's go and pulls out of her. Eyes filled with fear and remorse.

"I'm so sorry Lyarra," he tries to reach out and touch her, but she jerks away. Lyarra can see the hurt in his eyes, and it doesn't go away this time. A part of her _aches_ to see it, but at the moment she doesn't care. She hurriedly looks around for anything to slip on and she grabs his tunic lying on the edge of the mattress. She juts off the bed past his form and she knows she's in no condition to walk, let alone run. She's drunk, her lower body is sore and with every step she takes a jolt of pain shoots up her body, yet she tries anyways. But her efforts are for naught because she collapses onto the floor before she can reach the door.

She curls up into a ball, and even _that_ hurts when she tries, and begins to cry again. As helpless as ever. ' _This has to be the last time'_ she thinks, ' _I can't-No I won't do this anymore.'._ Lyarra hears Robb run towards her before scooping her up in his arms, her head pressed against his chest and she can hear his heart rapidly beating as he gently rocks her and runs his fingers through her hair. "I'm sorry Lyarra," he whispers. "I won't do that again. I'll never do that again, I promise. Just please don't _hate_ me," his voice cracks a little.

They stay like that for awhile, before he picks up her trembling body and walks to the bed before placing her on the mattress and covering her form with furs. And she knows, after tonight, things will never be the same between them. She wonders if he knows to.


	9. Chapter 9

Lyarra POV

She's been avoiding him for _weeks_ , every since that night. She still remembers how it felt, felt as if she was being split into two, how with every inch her insides were being stretched open. The thought makes her cringe and avoid Robb more. She's never alone in a room with him, fearing he'll broach the subject and she constantly avoids his gazes during dinner. Lyarra can't even bare to look at him without thinking about how he tried to thrust himself into her body. It makes her feel disgusting and ashamed that at first she wanted it, anticipated it even. To be penetrated by her own brother, her _flesh_ and _blood_. By the gods, they had the _same_ father, came from the same seed albeit not the same womb. _How could they_? How could they have been so driven by lust whilst overlooking this fact. Siblings, that is what they are, _not_ lovers. And yet, she couldn't deny, that deep down inside she misses him, misses his smell and kisses and touch. Misses that familiar warm smile that he no longer throws her way, instead just a cold hard stare. When she first started distancing herself from him, he had tried. Tried to get close again, tried to be warm and inviting. But slowly as she grew cold, he grew cold too. It was frightening really, that despite his Tully features, he looked all Stark when he glared at her. She wonders if he'll even do that anymore.

She thinks about her father and what he'd think. What he'd think about all the things she's done with his son and she's sure he'd send her off to the Septas. He'd most likely be ashamed of her, more so than he is already. She sees the way he looks at her, his eye's filled with sadness, when he thinks she isn't looking. That thought alone makes the coldness in her being grow.

She _needs_ to leave. _Soon_. She can't stay here anymore. Not with Robb or Father. Or Lady Catelyn, who now looks upon her with triumph, as if she's won something. And it takes everything inside her not to expose the relationship she had with Robb. Tell her just how _close_ her son was with the Bastard of Winterfell.

Despite her time with Sansa and Arya, she's never felt so alone. Because no one understands how she feels, they've _never_ understood her, not Robb, not father and sometimes not even Arya. Who is she to talk to? And if even, what would she tell them? No one understands and she _won't_ help them, for she has to many secrets, too many feelings she'd rather _not_ expose. It's all too much, and she feels as if she might break down at any moment.

She should have stayed. Should have wrote to her father and begged him to let her stay or beg Lady Mormont to take her back. She misses Bear Island, where she actually felt free and accepted, where she belonged. She's never belonged at Winterfell, never. She doesn't know why she thought five years away would change that simple fact. And sometimes, the darker part of her, the part that boils and rages like wildfire, hates these ancient grey walls and everyone inside. Including Robb. Because they make her feel like a beast trapped in a grey bleak prison, with walls stained with memories of her miserable childhood as well her new ones. She realizes she's never been happy at Winterfell, just trapped and suffocated. She tries to shake the dark thoughts out of her mind. Because **no** , this must be that other part of her trying to dominate. No, she just needs to leave.

She tries her best to contain her emotions and keep a steady pace as she makes her way to her father's solar, perhaps she can convince him. She walks through the halls in a haste until she feels something run into her. No someone, someone with raven curls and grey eyes. "Arya! Why are you running in the halls?"

"I've been looking for you everywhere Lya! I want you to help me play the harp again! Today I played a few notes for Septa Mordane, and she actually praised me, Lya. _Praised_. " she frowns "But she still said that Sansa sings better"

Lyarra smiles apologetically as she ruffles her hair. "Maybe later, little sist-" she pauses, because that's what _Robb_ used to call her, and it brings an ache to her chest. It's funny, how he managed to turn something so innocent into something _else_ entirely and she resents him a little more. "Maybe later, Arya, I have to speak to father. Hopefully I can catch him while he's free."

And yet, as she walks away from her little sist- **Arya** , as she walks away from Arya she can't help but feel a little hesitant about her decision. To just come back into Arya's world, to just become close with Sansa again after so long, then to just leave again seems cruel.

She thought on it, thought about stopping and turning around. Then she saw _him_. He had just exited father's solar and is now facing her. Looking her in her eyes, in that way he used to, except this time she can't see any type of affection or emotion. It seems as if the world has stopped as they stand there and stare, because this is the closest contact they've had with each other in weeks. Her fists balling up in anticipation, waiting for him to say _anything_ , do _anything_.

Until he looks completely past her, and continues on, brushing past her form as if she wasn't there to begin with. It takes everything in her not to cry or call out to him. She nearly does it to, until she forces herself to remember why she avoided him to begin with. She knows it's partly her fault, knows that perhaps she _should've_ talked to him but then things would have remained how they _were_. They would have continued their affair if they had made up. And she couldn't let that happen. Besides, it's better this way. It will hurt less when she leaves.

She knocks on the door to her father's solar.


	10. Chapter 10

Robb POV

It took _everything_ in him to walk away, to pretend she wasn't even there. Her face had been a blank mask, devoid of any emotion. But it was the eyes that one had to look at, to truly _see_ it. To truly _see_ her. Melancholy and cold rage. That's what he saw. He wanted to comfort her, to hold her in his arms but she was the one who pushed _him_ away. And he can't help but feel guilty, because it wasn't without reason.

There was another deserter. The eighth or tenth one this month. Robb lost count a long time ago, but today father would carry out the lord's justice. And since Bran was nearing ten namedays, he would be witnessing it, as well as him,Jory, Rodrik, Theon and... _her_. She'd begged father to let her join along with Brandon. Father was hesitant at first, but soon relented. For father could never truly say _no_ to Lyarra. Not with those doe eyes and that ' _melancholy bastard_ ' face she always made. That face always got father to relent in anything. But he couldn't blame his lord father, for it was hard to deny a look like that.

He chances a small look at her. She's riding alongside Brandon's pony, deep in conversation, until Bran blurted out "Do you have to leave so soon?" and this gains his full attention. His gaze directly on her in silent rage when she meets it with a horrified look of her own. "Bran! Where did you-"

"I heard you and father talking when I was climbing near his solar," he admits shamefully, "Sorry Lyarra. But, do you have to go? Can't you stay a few more weeks?"

Robb doesn't know if he's ever gripped anything as hard as he's gripping his reins.

She looks down at Bran before giving a long sigh "It isn't for certain Bran. Father has yet to decide if I should go or not _. I have yet to leave_.", the last part mostly directed at him than Bran. She ruffles his hair and gives him an assuring smile, but they both know that it's nothing but false promises. He desperately wants to steer his horse near hers and give her a word or two. _Leave_? Why would she ? Was it because of him? Did she want to get away from him? That thought hurt more than he'd like to admit. Because she had a reason.

He hurt her in the worst possible way one could hurt their lover. No, _sister_. He hurt his _sister_. One of the woman he's supposed to protect the most in this world and she doesn't even stay alone in a room with him for more than five seconds. That's _very_ telling.

What would father think? What would he do? If he knew what he did to his daughter? Found out about every _dirty_ little detail of the things he's done to her body on numerous occasions. Found out about all the times she took him in her mouth or he her. Found out about how they used to fondle each other until they both cummed, in the presence of the old gods. Found out about how he used to make her scream and moan his name or the nastiest of things that shouldn't come out of a ladies mouth. Or, found out about how he made her cry out in pain.

He looked on at father, as he brought out his sword Ice from its scabbard. He watched as the man he knew as father turned into Lord Stark of Winterfell and Warden of the North. He watched as he swung the sword, taking off the the madman's head in one swift swing _. 'I sentence you to die. May the gods have mercy on your soul_ ' echoed through his head.

' _Would father swing the sword on me if he knew? If he knew of my sins, my lust, my desires? Would he renounce my claim as heir to Winterfell and send me to the Wall? Would he look upon me with shame and disappointment?'_

Somehow, the thought of his father being ashamed and disappointed in him seemed far worse than any suitable punishment he could think of.

' _Is it worth it?'_ he began to think doubtfully. But when he thought of _her_ and her shy smiles, the ones she only gave _him_ , thought of her laughter and how sweet it is to his ears, thought of all the time they've spent with each other for the past six moons, thought of all the times they sparred together in the woods, thought of their inside jokes that _only they_ understood, thought of her body warm and willingly wrapped around his and his wrapped around hers. He knew ' _It was worth_ it'. And if he could go back to the beginning of it all, back to the moment they first touched each other, he'd do it all again. Just to have those sweet stolen moments again.

It made it hurt all the more; because would she do it all again, for _him_? He remembered those harsh words, her cold eyes, remembered how she rejected his touch. An overwhelming feeling swelled within his chest, a feeling of angst and heartbreak, because he _knew_. He knew the answer, ' _No. No she wouldn't'_ he thought.

"Hey! Stark." Theon snapped him back into reality and out of his deep train of thought. "You alright? You're brooding is almost as bad as Snow's. I think you could give her a run for her money." He chuckles at his own joke as they ride away from the executioner block. "Hey, _are_ you alright?"

Robb rolls his shoulders back as he sees Lyarra speeding away "I'm fine," he says demurely before taking off in a gallop to catch up to her, and he can hear Theon shouting after him, Robb really wishes he wouldn't.

He's nearly behind her as he shouts "Lyarra!," she whips her head back in surprise before turning back around, then suddenly coming to halt. He's confused as to why until he sees it himself. A dead stag. And several feet away, a _direwolf_. It was desperately clinging onto life, yet still _living_ and with her litter of pups.


	11. Chapter 11

Robb POV

The others had wanted to put the she-wolf and her pups out of their misery, _especially_ Theon. But he and Bran protested, and when father didn't waver in his decision Lyarra jumped in to. With her solemn face and doe eyes. She reasoned that the direwolf and her pups were the sigil of House Stark, and excluding herself, said that they were _meant_ to have them. " _What about you Lyarra? Will you not take one for yourself?,"_ his father asked.

" _I'm not a Stark,"_ she responded softly.

That was until she spotted the smallest one of them all. The runt of the litter, it was an albino as well, with ruby red eyes, the only one with opened eyes. And she loved it regardless and cradled the little thing in her arms like a babe.

Father had ordered Theon to retrieve a sleigh, to carry the she-wolf back on. The stags antler nearly penetrated her throat and she had a long cut along her neck, but it was nothing the maester couldn't stitch and heal. Father started smoothing the wolf's fur, forming a sort of affection for her.

Father had forbade his children to go near the pups and their mother until she healed and her litter grew. There was seven pups, the last one a mix of white and grey fur with hazel eyes. He wondered who that one would go to. That had been a week ago.

Her smile had been so pretty, when she held her pup in her arms. He wishes she would smile at him again. He thought on that smile, as he ran his fingers across the blade he had forged for her name day. He wonders if she ever thinks about it, if she ever wants to ask for it. The morning after that night, when she woke in his bed, she didn't even bother to grab it or any of her other belongings for that fact. Such as her dress, which he still had in his dresser and her pretty necklace with the winter rose. She'd just hastily gotten up and left. _Left_. She was always _leaving_ him or trying to get away from him. The thought made him grip the pommel of the sword before getting up from his mattress and marching out his chamber. He was tired of this, tired of the silence they gave each other and most of all, tired of the coldness he felt inside. They _needed_ to talk. They _are_ going to talk, he'll make sure of it.

He doesn't even bother knocking, he just walks in, slamming the door behind him. Her eyes are wide with shock as she looks at him, before going sullen. Her body is tense as she sits on the edge of her bed.

"You're leaving?," he asks her, voice dark and low, it almost comes out in a raspy whisper.

She looks down at her hands as if they're the most intriguing thing in the world, before simply nodding her head, curls falling in her face. "Yes. I-" he cuts her off before she can finish.

"Why?" It's more of a statement than a question.

She sighs before saying "The king is coming to Winterfell."

His anger turns into confusion, "What the _hell_ does that have to do with anything?"

She ignores him and continues " The hand of the king is dead and the king is coming to Winterfell. What do you _think_ it means Robb?" she asked rhetorically. "Father and King Robert were close friends when they were younger. So, it means that the king plans to name father hand. Meaning father won't be here anymore, meaning I can't be here anymore." She stated flatly.

"What about _me_?" he asked incredulous.

"What about _you_?"

He looks at her in disbelief, "I'll still be here, Lyarra. As long as I'm here you'll have a place at Winterfell,"

She seems to consider it for amount, before shaking her head,"Lady Stark will not have me. Besides, what am I to do here? What is the purpose of me being here?"

"What's the purpose of you being there? The Mormont's aren't your family and Bear Island isn't your home. The _Stark's_ are your family and _Winterfell_ is your home.". Her eye's seemed to darken after that.

"Really? If that's the case, then why was I sent away in the first place? If Winterfell is my home, Robb?."

He doesn't know how to respond so he stays silent for a moment, before starting again "Despite everything, Lya, _we_ love you. Father loves you. I- _I love you. And I've missed you so much._ " He looks into her eyes " _Please, don't leave me."_ his voice cracks a little. He slowly walks toward her, and she eyes him with suspicion. He tries to pretend that doesn't hurt. He stands in front of her, then he bends down to kiss her forehead and cups her cheek with his hand, looking into her eyes.

Her eyes turn hard as steel and cold as winter, "Love me,Robb? You don't even know me, not truly. I haven't seen or talked to you in five years, and six moons isn't going to make up for that. Not when even before that you distanced yourself from me. You only noticed your _little sister_ when you noticed how fuckable she was."

His hand flinches away, as if he'd just been burnt by her skin. He slowly backs away from her. Words couldn't describe what he felt at the moment. He looked at the sword in his hand before tracing his fingers above it once more then dropping it on the floor.

The dark cloud that seemed to hover over her went away, as she eyed it. Before looking back up to him, eyes remorseful.

"Robb I-" but he didn't even give her a chance to finish, he was already out the door.


	12. Chapter 12

Lyarra POV

She's never _hated_ herself so much. Never felt _this_ much guilt. And every time she tries to think on it, and reason with herself, her heart begins to ache and she cries herself to sleep. It's been days, since their argument and he's been avoiding her like the plague. He won't even send her those cold stares that he'd given her weeks prior, and she's never thought she'd actually _miss_ them. Because it had meant he _still_ thought of her, _still_ wanted her. Now he can't even stand the sight of her. And she can't even resent him for it, just gives him his space instead. She wonders, if this is how he had felt, how she made him feel.

She remembers how he had looked at her with pleading eyes, how soft his lips were on her skin, remembers how she destroyed him with her poisonous word's. She shouldn't have pushed him away, should have wrapped her arms around him, should have made love to him. There is no point in denying what she feels for Robb, no point in trying to reject it. But she rejected him, when he opened up to her and she'll never forgive herself.

Lyarra _wants_ him. Wants him so much that it's bordering on _need_. She wants to run her fingers through his red curls, wants to press her soft form against his hard body. She doesn't just want him rubbing her, how he rubbed his member between her thighs, she wants him to come _inside_ her. She wants him to fuck her or make love to her. Wants him to do it long, hard and gentle or fast and rough how he likes it. She doesn't care if it's love or lust that drives them.

These thoughts cloud her mind as she cries on her bed and touches herself, her fingers constantly in motion. But it isn't enough. She can't reach her peak how Robb used to.

It's all too much before she breaks and goes to him. She silently walks out of her room, and creeps through the halls at the dead of night, to go to him.

Robb POV

He's never felt so much hurt and despite all the people around him he's never felt so alone. Not even Theon can seem to take him out of his melancholy. And he's never felt so much _love_ and _hate_ for someone. At least not at the _same_ time. It takes everything inside to not weep and cry himself to sleep every night, but he's _tempted_. Instead he spends his time in the training yard, taking out his anger on Theon and Ser Rodrik's poor recruits with little restraint.

He doesn't even bother to glare at her anymore, because it brings about too many emotions he doesn't know _what_ to do with. Feeling's he can't even _explain_.

It is the hour of the wolf when he hears a gentle knock on his door, a knock all to familiar and for a second his heart feels as if it's _stopped_. He slightly sits up when he sees the knob twist and open. And she appears before him, almost like a ghost. All he can do is just sit beneath the covers of his bed and stare at her staring at him. It's all he can do because he's frozen like some spooked deer. Why is she _here_? What does she _want_?

"...Robb?" her voice hoarse but it still reaches his ears, and breaks through the silence of the room.

His eyes look over her form. Her eyes are wet and red, her hair is a curly mess, and face flushed. She only wears a tunic, and he thinks it's _his_. She fiddles with her fingers, evidence of her nervousness and she shifts in her spot as she looks on at him sorrowfully. "What are you doing?" he breathes out shakily "Why are you here?".

He wants her to stay. He wants her to go away. He doesn't _really_ know anymore.

She falters a little at his words, before regaining some courage. But instead of speaking, she _acts_. Moves, _toward him_. She crawls onto his bed until her body hovers over his, only inches apart. Until she straddles his hips, hands pressed against his bare chest. He grabs them.

His breathing becomes rapid. "What are you doing?", his voice becomes husky.

"Please…" her voice is so soft and pleading, as she starts grinding herself against him, and he can't stop himself from hardening, wouldn't really want to if he could. His grip on her hands falters, swiftly moving his hand to grip her hips instead, guiding her.

She stops for a second to grab the ends of her tunic - _his_ tunic- and pulls it over her head. And she is naked before him. She then reaches down to move the furs from between them, as well as his small clothes and his heart is beating fast with anticipation. Lyarra starts to stroke his hard member and he doesn't try to hold back his moans. She bends down and takes his lips with hers, tongue slipping inside. He doesn't even notice her hand guiding him to her entrance, until he feels something wet and warm at the tip of his erection. Then he feels her hymen break and her moans of pain muffled by their touching lips. For a second he's a afraid she'll be scared away, that she will push him away again. And then she pushes further down, taking all of him inside of her.

By the gods, he's _never_ felt anything like this, it's different from when she used to take him in her mouth or he used to rub himself between her. This is the _real_ thing, to truly be inside someone, _inside her_. He's _inside her._ _His sister_. And he doesn't even care. Lyarra throws her head back and arches her body in pleasure as she releases a moan.

Robb looks down between them, to see it for himself, his curly red mound contrasted with her dark one. Then looks back up to her; and she looks like an ethereal beauty. With the moonlight seeping from his window reflecting on her porcelain skin, and it makes it glow. Her pouty red lips are a contrast on her pale skin as they part open. And her long eyelashes rest underneath her closed eyelids.

Lyarra POV

It's all _surreal_. She can feel him _throbbing_ _inside of her_ , can _feel_ the veins in his cock pulsating; and _he's inside of her_. She sits there for a moment adjusting and taking it all in. And she can feel herself creaming. She starts to move. She grinds at first, then she presses the palm of her hands against his chest to balance herself as she brings herself back up before slamming back down onto his shaft. They both let out barely suppressed moans as she does it again and again until it's a constant friction between their bodies. Sometimes Robb would take control and thrust into her madly, continuously hitting the spot within her that he could never quite get with his tongue or fingers. The spot, that with even a brief touch, drives her up the wall.

He pulled her down to his chest, wrapping his arms around her form. Soon, their bodies started to move in sync as they drew closer to their peak. She could feel it building up within, could feel herself clenching around him.

Arms wrapped around him, she bites down onto his shoulder as she releases, her eyes shut tight. She knew he was getting closer, could feel him swelling within her. The reasonable part of her brain told her to stop him, told her to finish him off with her mouth or hand, told her to make him pull out before he came. But the _darker_ side of herself _wanted_ him to. Wanted him to release inside of her, wanted his cum deep within her womb.

It overpowered the reasonable side, and she held onto him tighter, looking him in the eyes as he buried his seed deep within her. He came _so much_ and she felt some of it trickle in between her thighs. Although, she didn't really mind. Her body was practically dripping with sweat and cum, and it filled the air.

They stayed like that for a while, holding onto each other's sweaty forms. Her head rested on his chest and he ran his fingers threw her hair, listening to his steady heartbeat. From that moment on, she knew, ' _I am his and he is mine'._

Nothing else mattered.


	13. Chapter 13

Lyarra POV

She is with child. That is all she can think with horror as more bile rises in her throat before pouring out entirely.

She remembers when she lost her maidenhead to Robb, how eagerly she gave it to him. After the fact she had no regrets, still doesn't, but now at the moment she can't help but to think herself a **fool**.

For the past moon they've been laying with each other. They were distant during the day, but come night they were like wolves in heat pouncing on one another. Kissing and biting and ripping clothes off. They'd do it anywhere to, no thanks to Robb. Just the other night she had went into the First Keep, to sit in one of the cushioned windows. She had needed time alone to think. To think on her decision to leave or stay, because the gods _know_ that if she chose the latter their affair would be ending no time soon. Not that she did much to help it, after all he _was_ avoiding her. She seeked _him_ out, and the thing that scares her the most is that she doesn't regret it, not truly. And she doesn't want it to end either, doesn't want to leave but the part of her that still wants to be moral and honorable tries to convince her otherwise.

She had thought herself alone as she closed her eyes to contemplate and then she felt another figure position themselves right across from her. She had abruptly opened her eyes to see blue eyes and curly auburn hair.

Before she knew it, some time after, her back was pressed against a wall, legs wrapped around his waist and his hands gripping her hips, as he thrusted himself into her madly. He'd peer into her eyes and she'd feel like he was looking _through_ her, into her very soul. Climax after climax and he would look at her in triumph and satisfaction, that he made her body do that. She would cling onto his solid form as he lifted her hips before slamming them down to meet his thrust. Soon after he buried himself inside her, much like he did their first time, and she'd feel his warm seed filling her womb. It had made her moan. "Stay. Lyarra, _please_." He had whispered in her ear and she never responded. She never did. Every time, they'd give into one another and every time he'd beg her to stay and she would never have anything to say.

In truth, Lyarra didn't know what she wanted any more. One moment, her mind would be made up over one thing and change on the next. Her emotions were constantly clashing with each other and her feelings were conflicted.

She never bothered with moon tea not because she _didn't_ want to-who is she kidding? She _didn't_ want to, still doesn't. But even if she did, she had no means to get it. She couldn't ask Maester Luwin, for she didn't want him to pry or tell father of his daughters fornication. She didn't know a wit about herbs and she wasn't going to ask someone how to make tansy, that was _entirely_ out of the question. So it wasn't a surprise that Robb's seed had taken root. Although she had tried to ignore the fact that her moon blood had come late, reasoning with herself that it'd come next moon.

She thought about all of this, as the contents in her stomach rose in her throat. The nausea never seeming to fade.

It had all happened so quickly and despite her state of being she can't help but feel embarrassed. They had been having honeyed duck and wild boar. She had been fine at first, although she felt her stomach flip a little at the sight of it, and she grabbed a slice of Rye bread to ease the queasiness. Then-then someone, perhaps father or Theon, cut a slice of it and passed the plate of meat over to the next person and she had caught a whiff of it. The nauseating smell of cooked meat heavy, and it filled her nose. She all but ran out of the hall as fast as she could, to somewhere near the stables, to spill the contents within her stomach. It wouldn't stop, it was almost endless.

"Lyarra!" she heard Robb's voice as he ran to her. He looked at her, worried for a moment, before crouching down behind her to pull back her hair as she continued to throw up. It seemed to take forever before she finally stopped. "Lyarra, are you alright?" he said, rubbing her back.

She let out a whimper,"No, I'm not.". He helped her up before turning her around to face him.

"Then tell me what's wrong."

Did she _really_ want to tell him? How would he react? Would he want her to keep _it_? She wants to, although she knows she shouldn't. But she would be leaving soon, at least she thinks so. Father hasn't said anything yet, a part of Lyarra thinks he doesn't want her to leave either and now she carries Robb's child within her womb.

' _I'm carrying Robb's child,'_ the reality of it finally dawned on her, ' _His child, his babe, his seed, his- in my womb. It's growing inside of me. It is mine's to. Ours. We made it together. What will Robb think? Will he be as terrified and awed as I am? I hope so, then I won't be alone. I have to tell Robb. I need to tell Robb.'._

"I'm," she pauses for a moment, looking into those blue eyes, staring back at her intently. His hands rest on her arms, rubbing them soothingly. "I'm with," she swallows before saying " _child_.". Her eyes retreat from his, afraid to see his reaction, but she can tell he's in shock because he freezes. It's silent, and she thinks he can hear the rapid beating of her heart. Perhaps-perhaps he doesn't want it. And she doesn't blame him if he doesn't because her child- _their_ child would only be the new blight on House Stark, another stain on another Lord Stark's honor. What was she thinking? Someday, Robb would marry a high born lady from a prominent house and their children will be true-born and loved, _openly_ , because it wouldn't bring _shame_ to him if he did. He wouldn't be ashamed of _his_ , but he'd be ashamed of _hers_. He would only show affection toward his bastard behind closed doors, much how father does her. His lady wife will be cold and distant toward Lyarra's child, how lady Catelyn is toward her. It would never know happiness, not truly, because it'd be a _bastard,_ born of incest between it's father and his bastard sister. No, why would she want to subject _any_ child of hers to that horrid fate. Tears began rolling down her face, "I'm sorry. I-" before she could say more, she found herself wrapped in his arms tightly, her face pressed against his chest.

"There is nothing to be sorry for. _Nothing_.". He lifts her chin to look down at her face before delving his hand into her curls bringing her face to his in a kiss. He stops to look down at her again, wiping the tears from her eyes, giving her one of those warm smiles that she loves so much.

"Marry me.", that gives her pause.

"What?", he can't possibly be serious.

"You are with child. My child," he looks into her eyes, and there is so much affection, so much love, she doesn't know what to do.

"We can't. You know we can't. What would father say? How would your mother react? Or better yet, the north,",she says solemnly.

He shakes his head,"I don't care. Not anymore."

She lets out a small laugh," That's mad."

"Please, at least stay. Just stay with me, Lyarra."

She hesitates before saying, "I'll stay, I promise.".


	14. Chapter 14

Robb POV

 

It's been a moon since he asked Lyarra to marry him and a moon since she promised she would stay. It's been near a moon since he found out about her pregnancy, and day by day it begins to show.  Already her breast and stomach have swollen, although only a little and only _he_ can tell.

 

He looks at her now, laying beside him in his bed.  Her eyes are closed in content and he can't help but think how beautiful she is.  He pushes some of her dark curls out the way to trace over her lips and jaw.  The sunlight is beaming through the window,  casting a light on her face, making it look all the more angelic. His hand goes further down to the valley of her breast, to the smooth bump of her stomach.  His hand stays there for a while, rubbing in circular motions. He can't help but wonder if it'll be a boy or girl, if it will have Lyarra’s hazel eyes or his blue, if it will have auburn or dark curls.  A part of him wants the child to look everything like it's mother from the dark curly hair to the pale skin, with perhaps his blue eyes.  The image pleases him as he caresses her slightly rounded abdomen.

 

“Robb?,” she calls his name softly.  He looks at her before taking her lips, moving his hand further down between her thighs.

 

”Robb…”she moans this time, as he climbs on top of her, sliding his erection inside and he will never get used to the feeling of being in someone, in her.  It makes him release a shaky breathe, the warmth of her body in contrast to the cool morning air sends chills through his being.  He takes her lips again, his hands on both sides of her head, as he slowly glides in and out.  Robb loves the feel of her body moving in sync with his, loves the way she makes her hips meet his, _he loves her_.  She grips his shoulders before gripping his rear, gently guiding him.  It makes it all the more passionate  and he savors the moment. He can now understand why Lyarra likes it this way, likes it slow and gentle.  

 

He releases a moan as he climaxes and her legs tighten around him. She throws her head back with a smile and a pleased sigh at the feel of his cum in her womb.

 

He softly placed his head on her breast as she ran her fingers through his hair.  He could hear the slow beating of her heart, but besides that, it was silent and the moment was peaceful.  She would have to leave soon, before the castle began to stir, but he was content for the moment. “I love you.”

 

“I love you too Robb, more than you can know.”, her voice is soft and affectionate.

 

“I only want you, no one else.  I want you to have my name, to have my children, _all of my children._ I want you to be my lady, my wife.”

 

It's silent for a while before she says “I know,” she gently rubs her hand along his face lovingly and his eyes close in pleasure at her touch, “I know.”.

 

“We could run away.  We could run away and get married and after all is said and done, no one can object, if we marry before the gods.  Old and new.”, he knew this was foolish, but the idea still seemed pleasant enough to think about.

 

She laughed softly and he could feel it vibrate through her chest. “Now that's just foolish.  Who would commit such folly.  Running away...getting married,”, perhaps it was him hearing what he wanted to hear but it seemed as if she considered it a little.  But only a little “No. That would leave trouble in our wake.”.

 

“What about the baby?”

 

“What about it?”, she was becoming agitated.

 

“Don't you-,” he considered his next words. “Don't you want our child to grow up _different_? From how you did?” she stiffened.

 

“What do you mean by ‘ _how I did_ ’?” he raises his head, his eyes locking onto hers.

 

“You know what I mean.  For all that I love my mother, I hated the way she treated you, Lyarra.  I hated the way father hid you away whenever some other lord came to Winterfell, like you were some dirty secret.  And I hate the way you act-”

 

“How I act?” her voice rises a little and her eyes harden. “How _do_ I act Robb?”

 

“Like you don't _deserve_ to be loved.  Like you don't deserve to be here.”

 

Her eyes glisten, as she looks upon him before she cups his face bringing it to hers in a fervent kiss.

 

“Marry me, Lyarra.  Please.”.

 

“How?” she whispers helplessly, her eyes pleading with him to stop.  To stop giving her false hope.

 

“Let's leave and marry.  Before the old gods if not the new. Damn everything else.”. He grips her hands bringing them to his lips.  ‘ _Why does it have to be this way? Why can't she just be mine?’_

 

“That's...insane.”

 

“I know.”

 

She looks at her hand in his before looking him in the eyes, her expression pained “No, we can't...” it's barely above a whisper but he hears it all the same.  It hurts, because he knows she's right.

  



	15. Chapter 15

  Cat POV 

 

Winterfell has never been this exuberant and as the Lady of Winterfell she was abuzz with it.  The king was only a few days away, according to the most recent raven and they had yet to reach the accommodations for the Royal Family.

 

The new meats needed to be salted to keep fresh until the courts arrival, and the rooms in the Guest Keep needed to be elevated to that of nobility.  Let it never be said that House Stark knows no hospitality.

 

People often overlook the responsibilities of a Lady.  They forget that although the lord may set up negotiations between other lords, may carry out the justice and hold court, may leave off to war to protect his lands, it is the Lady that keeps the Holdfast and the people within it together and in order.  It is her duty to make sure her family is sated and protected.  _  ‘Winter is Coming’, _ as her Ned often reminded her, and she would prepare for it. _  ‘Family Duty Honor’, _ she often reminded herself.

 

She entered the Great Hall, remembering to order the rearranging of the trestle tables and checking the finery.

 

She made her way out to the castle yard soon after, and was on her way to the Guest Keep to make sure her commands were followed.  All until she ran into... _ the girl.  _  And wasn't she a  _ sight _ to see.  Her hair was in disarray, her cheeks flushed and breathes rapid, her grey-indigo eyes were wide.  She clearly wasn't expecting to run into her either.  Catelyn looked at her dress and saw that the skirts were lightly wrinkled and her stomach was slightly round.  She regarded the bastard coolly before morphing into suspicion.  _ ‘Why is she so disheveled?’  _  But before she could inquire about the girls appearance more, the bastard abruptly excused herself “Lady Stark,” she gave a quick nod of her head before escaping Catelyn’s scrutinizing stare.

 

Hours later, she tries to shake the thought of the bastard out of her head, tries to continue on with her duties as the Lady of Winterfell, and yet she couldn't help but be bothered.  Her intuition telling her something was very  _ off _ .

 

Three moons ago, it would have been an understatement to say she was anything but pleased at the sudden wedge between her son and the bastard.  They seemed to have a disagreement of some kind and took to avoiding each other as often as possible.  She would often find her son glaring daggers at the bastard and in turn the bastard would ignore him completely.  And yet she found it all  _ odd _ . It didn't seem normal, like some short feud between siblings, much like Sansa and Arya often has.  It was that of a couple.  They may not have noticed it, but she did, they did not notice how they would often look at one another when the other wasn't looking.  A look of rage, hurt and want.  So desperately wanting, but what? Wanting what? Hurt over what? Raging over what? 

 

And just like that, the wanting was sated and although they often kept their distance she didn't miss those lingering stares and sly smirks.

 

Mayhaps she  _ is _ reading too much into it.  Perhaps she’s seeing things, but she has to know.  Has to know for certain that it isn't what she  _ thinks _ it is. Has to know if this is just sibling affection, albeit  _ strange _ affection.  Although she has a strong inkling that it isn't and so she finds herself outside her son’s chambers.  He currently resides in the training yard, with Ser Rodrik and the Greyjoy.  She tries to will herself away, tries to reason with herself that this is wrong  _ but at the same time it is right. _

 

She enters her son's room, closing the door behind her.  And she is engulfed in the heavy sweet and musky scent of- _ of sex _ .   _ ‘It doesn't mean it was with her.  Surely not his own...half sister.’ _ . She walks to the bed and sits at the edge, looking around the room, she then leans down toward his furs and the odor is still there, except this time it smells of  _ roses _ .  _ Winter roses _ , the bastard has always been fond of them and often dosed herself in the oil  _ ‘But it doesn't mean it's particularly her scent.  It could have been some serving girl.  The Snow isn't the only one in the north who likes Winter roses.’. _ She runs her fingers through the numerous pelts of furs and then she sees it. A few strands of long dark curly hair on his pillow, she pauses. _ ‘A lot of people in the north are dark of hair, they are the blood of the First Men.’.  _ She stands back up, and takes a few composed breaths and tries  _ not _ to think about the air that she's breathing in.  Then she looks at his chest, and immediately goes through it.  _  ‘Furs, breaches, tunics. That's all. Thank the gods that-’ _ she freezes, because underneath it all is a dress.  The same dress that the bastard wore on her name day. She lifts it up, to look at it, to prove herself wrong, to convince herself it belongs to another. _ ‘It's hers. Her scent, her hair, her dress. And it's in his room, in his furs, in his chest.’ _ Her hands are shaking and she can hardly control her breathing. _ ‘He’s sleeping with his sister.  It all...it all makes sense now.  He laid with his own sister.’ _ Then it dawns on her  _ ‘When I saw the bastard today, did they...did they get finished...were they...fucking?  That's what they were doing, what she was doing with my son, why she looked so...unkempt.  And her belly was...round.  Why was her belly round?  Gods no, oh please. No.’.  _  The image of her son between the legs of the Snow girl flashed in her mind, the image of them fondling and grinding into each other as they moaned and called each others name.  Then the image morphed into her husband instead, laying with the beautiful Ashara Dayne.

 

She doesn't even remember collapsing to the ground but she finds herself sitting there, looking at the plain blue dress that belongs to her husband’s bastard.  She didn't think it was  _ this _ serious, didn't think that even if they had an infatuation with one another, they would go this far.  She knows the truth now, knows what's going on and yet she couldn't find it in herself to tell Ned, couldn't even find the strength to get up but she knew she would have to, in both regards.  She wonders if the bastard inherited more than her mother's beauty, wonders if she inherited her allure and seductive prowess as well.  The same seduction that made her Ned break his vows, the same allure that made her son forget his morality.

  
  
 


	16. Chapter 16

Cat POV

 

She doesn't bother knocking before entering Ned's solar, the plain blue dress still in hand.  She hasn't felt this way in _years_ , not since the girl was finally out of her castle, out of the lives of her children and husband.   _Disgust, rage and...jealousy_ .  Because surely the bastards mother must have been the same.  Enough beauty and charm to make _any_ men forget his honor, forget his vows.  The anonymous woman took her husband and now her daughter has done the same,  has _stolen_ Catelyn’s son.

 

He looks up from his paper work, surprised by her sudden entrance.  His look of surprise changes into his warm and welcoming smile, the ones that he only gives to her.  It goes away as soon as he senses her dark mood and she hates that it does, because the last thing she wants to do is take away his smile, his warmth. “Cat-”

 

“We need to talk. Now.” There was no purpose in driving pass the point, she wanted to tell him as soon as possible and be done with it.

 

“About what, Cat?” she could hear the worry in his voice. “Is everything alright?”

 

“No. It _isn't_ .” She swallows gravely.  This isn't going to be easy, to convince him that his children are sleeping with each other.  She could hardly believe it herself, didn't want to believe that her son was capable of such sin and lust.  No doubt he would think it was her usual dislike of his bastard and displeasure of her closeness to their children. “We need to talk about our son,” She pauses before saying “and your... _daughter_.” Her grip on the dress tightens.

 

His brow furrows and face hardens, “What about them?” This isn't going to be easy at all.

 

“Ned…” she says before looking down at the dress in her hands, it's blue cotton fabric, before placing it on his desk.

 

His face morphed into confusion as he looked upon it, “What is this?”

 

She closes her eyes and breathes, bracing herself for the argument to come, “It belongs to her.”

 

He looks back up to her, “And?”

 

Her eyes shot open, “And it was in _his_ room.  In _his_ chest.  Why would _her_ dress be inside _his_ chest, with _his_ belongings.”

 

His eyes close as he rubs his brow, “What are you _trying_ to insinuate, Cat?”

 

“ _Insinuate_ ? I'm not _insinuating_ anything Ned.  You think I want to believe our son is doing what he is doing? Want to believe that he would dishonor himself by-”

 

“By what? What could you possibly believe-”

“He is sleeping with your daughter!” she couldn't stop herself from shouting it out. “ _Why_ ? _Why_ would she take off her dress in his room?  What business does she have taking off anything in his room?”  He looks at her, dumbfounded.  He begins to speak but she cuts him off.

 

“I went inside his room Ned. And do you know what it smelled like? What his furs smelled like? Sex. It smelled like sex and winter roses.” She can feel herself face reddening. “ There was long curly strands of dark hair in his pillows, Ned.” Her hands are shaking and she's trying to catch her breathe.  

 

It became silent, so silent it was almost deafening. His head rested in his hands, trying to take in everything she said. _‘How can he not see it? How hasn't he seen it? His own children.’_

 

“Don't you see, Ned?” he begins to shake his  head.

 

“No, Cat. That can't possibly be the case-”

 

“Yes, Ned! It is.” her voice rises again. _Why is he always so stubborn?_ “They are far to close than any siblings have right to be! The way they look at each other. The way they touch and kiss each other!  It is wrong, all so very wrong. It is no different from how we look at each other, and I am your _wife_ . We are _married_ , they are just _siblings_!  How can you not see this-”

 

“Enough Cat!” he slams his hand against the table, he looks at her with disbelief. “Enough.” it is softer this time, yet stern. “We will discuss this...matter later.”

 

 _No. No_ , he has to believe her. He _will_ believe her. “She is pregnant.” He freezes at this, eyes locking onto hers “I may not know much about the bastard but she isn't a heavy eater and her belly is far more rounder than it was two moons ago.  This I know for certain, my lord.”.  She then leaves his solar, not giving him another word.


	17. Chapter 17

Ned POV

 

He couldn't think after that, not without thinking about the knowledge Cat gave him, about his daughter.  Not without thinking about her suspicions. That's what they are, suspicions.  _ Right _ ?

 

He looks down at his paper work, he hadn't bothered to pick it up for the past hour.  He looked out the window of his solar to see the sun close to setting. He needs to get out of here, needs to find peace of mind, because he hasn't had it since he learned of Jon Arryn's death or Robert’s forthcoming arrival. And now  _ this _ .

 

He leaves his solar, then heads out of the keep into the Godswood.  The ancient woods was one of the few places that gave him solace.  He sits in front of the sullen faced heart tree, trying to find comfort but he finds none at all.  He then sends up a prayer, confiding his thoughts and hopes to the ancient weirwood.  He’s nearly finished until he hears the crunching of old fallen leaves then a sudden halt.  He turns his head around and he sees  _ her _ .  Her dark curly locks a cascade  over her chest, skin pale and eyes a piercing light grey if you can ignore the hints of indigo.  Sometimes it is as if he’s looking at two sets of ghost because everyday she grows to look more like her mother... _ and her father to. _  She wears a plain grey dress, a black cloak, and he sees that she wears the necklace that he gifted her, the necklace that once belonged to Lyanna. _ ‘The very image.’ _ He thinks. “Lyarra?”

 

She looks at him, her eyes wide in surprise, “Father! I’m sorry, I didn't know you would be here. I'll leave-”

 

“No, it is fine. I was just finishing up.” He assures her.

 

“Oh.” She says looking down at her hands, a flush forming on her face. “I just...needed to think a little, so I came here.”

 

“Me to,” He smiles at her, and she gives him one of her rare smiles in turn. “Is everything okay, Lya?”

 

Her eyes meet his, and he swears he can see guilt and disgust, much like the day he gave her her mother's necklace.  But it quickly goes away, “Yes.  Everything’s fine.” and yet she doesn't meet his eyes.

 

He stares at her for a moment. _ ‘She is pregnant’, _ Cat’s words echo in his mind before he looks down to her stomach.  And he can see a roundness forming, much how Cat’s did when she was pregnant with their children.  She follows his line of gaze before hastily grabbing the sides of her cloak to cover it. Her face heats up in shame as his eyes lock with hers. “Lyarra…,”

Her lips tremble a little and her eyes glisten, “I’m sorry,” she begins to back away “I'm sorry,” she repeats it again and he can see a few tears fall from her eyes.  He feels an ache in his chest, _ he doesn't want to see his little girl cry _ . “I’ll-I’ll leave.” but before she turns around he stops her.

 

“No, Lyarra,” she freezes at his words.  He sighs, looking back at the heart tree. _ ‘Gods be good.’, _ he closes his eyes. “Sit with me Lyarra. You can talk to me about anything, I am your father.”.

 

She hesitates a little before walking to the heart tree and sitting beside him.  It's silent for a while before he speaks, “Is there anything you need to tell me?” she opens her mouth, then closes it, losing courage. “I won't judge you, if you only explain.” she looks into his eyes, and hers are so sullen and sorrowful, yet hoping.

 

“Promise me?” the ache in his chest only intensifies.  _ Promise me, Ned _ .

 

“I promise,” and he hopes she couldn't hear the cracking in his voice, hopes she doesn't judge him if she did.

 

She looks down at her hands again, before looking at the melancholy engraved face on the heart tree. She takes a deep breath, “I'm pregnant.” She places a hand on her stomach, almost out of instinct.

 

 _‘She is pregnant. Cat was right, she is pregnant but by who?’._ **Your son** , he could practically hear his wife's voice. ‘ _No, that can't be. Robb would never…’ “_ Can you…” he hesitated. He doesn't want to scare her away, when she just opened up to him. “Can you tell me his name? The name of the father?”

 

She tenses before quickly shaking her head, “I can't.” her breathing quickens. He rests a hand on her back, rubbing it soothingly. Her composure calms.

 

“It's okay,” he says reassuringly, “You don't have to say.” He pauses before starting again “Do you know him well?”

 

“Yes,” good, that's good.

 

“Do you...love him?”

 

She smiles, but it's more to herself than him. “I love him so much and he loves me.  He never fails to remind me.” He smiles at this , he is glad there is someone who cherishes his daughter and she cherishes him in return.

 

“Tell me about him, if you don't mind.”.

 

“He loves me furiously.  He is very kind and passionate.  He’s willing to risk anything for me, although... I don't want him to.  But it's nice to know there's someone who would. When he looks at me, it feels as if he’s looking through me, into me.  He can read me better than I can sometimes. He doesn't care about me being a bastard and he forgives me for things, when sometimes I know he shouldn't.  Sometimes I don't deserve his forgiveness and yet he gives it anyway.  He’s honorable...until it comes to me. Then in some ways he is, when he tries to convince me to...marry him.  He thinks it is the right thing to do, because he...because I have his child, he often says.  But I won't hold it against him, I should have...It doesn't matter anymore, it's already done.” She closes her eyes fondly, “I love him so much, father.”

 

“He seems like a good man.” He sighs “Why can't you tell me who he his?”

 

Her eyes open, “Because I can't. I'm sorry, but I can't.” Her voice wavers.

 

But why? “Why, Lyarra? If-”

 

“Because you'd  _ hate _ me if you did,” her voice rises but there's tears rolling down her cheeks, “Gods, you would hate me so much father. You'd be so disgusted and you would hate me. Everyone would. Arya, Bran, Sansa. And Lady Catelyn would hate me more than she already does!” her hand covers her mouth as more tears fall.

 

_ ‘Why would we hate her?’ _ He could never hate her, not  _ his _ little girl, not  _ Lyanna’s _ little girl.  _ ‘Don't you see, Ned?’ _ he can hear Cat’s voice ringing in his head.  He shakes it away, _ ‘No, you are wrong in this Cat. You have to be. They would never…’ _

 

“Is he-is he of low birth?,” she shakes her head no and whimpers. But that  _ must _ be it. It  _ must _ be.  When he was younger, he used to blow the most smallest of things out of proportion, when it was so simple.  She'll tell him someday, when she's ready. And he won't shun her for it.  He respects those of low birth as he does nobility.  _ ‘Yes, this must be it. Lyarra would never...would She? No of course not…’. _ “If that's the case Lyarra, I won't love you less for it.” She looks at him, her eyes are wet and red and her face is flushed.  Her brow furrows before softening as she throws herself into his arms, crying into his chest.  He holds her small form close, rubbing circles on her back. “I could never hate you Lyarra, do you understand?,”

 

“Promise me, you won't. Promise me you won't hate him either or our child.  Please father, promise me,” she says pleadingly.  The ache in his chest never dulls.

  
He holds her tighter, “I promise.  By the gods, I promise,” he whispers.   _ Promise me, Ned. _


	18. Chapter 18

Ned POV 

 

The black and yellow of Baratheon and red and gold of Lannister dominated the air, constantly flowing with the wind.

 

All of Winterfell stood there, lined up from those of high ranking to the servants at the back, in front of the east gate that the king and his court entered. 

 

And wasn't  _ he _ a sight to see.  No longer was he Robert Baratheon the  _ Demon of the Trident, _ the Warrior in flesh but...something  _ else _ entirely.  The years have not been kind to his old friend, nor has the crown that sits atop his head.

 

Where he once was robust and lively, he was now...fat and  _ tired _ , so very  _ tired _ and he could see it in his eyes.  His face was red with drunkenness and exhaustion, from something as simple as riding a horse, despite all of the furs and silks he adorned you could see the outline of his large gut.  It was so...pathetic that he needed a wooden stand for something as easy as getting off his horse.  It saddened him to see his once sturdy friend brought so low.  ‘The years have not been kind to him at all.’.  And yet, a part of him was glad to see him after so long.

 

As Robert strode toward them, all of Winterfell graveled to his feet, staying there until he gestured for the Lord of Winterfell to rise.  The yard was heavy with tension between the King and the Lord. 

 

“Your Grace,” everyone is silent, waiting anxiously for Robert's response.

 

“You've got fat,” this renders Ned speechless before he picks up on the humor in it, looking Robert's form up and down with a raised eyebrow.

 

And just like that the mood becomes light, as the thick tension is cleared by a shared laugh between two friends. 

 

Robert starts to greet his wife, calling her ‘ _ Cat _ ’, which he knows is far to familiar for her liking.  He goes to the Stark children greeting them one by one.

 

“Who have we here?  You must be Robb!,”

 

“My, you're a pretty one.”

 

“Your name is?”

 

“Arya!,” his little she-wolf says proudly.

 

“Show us your muscles,” Bran shyly flexes his arm before Robert ruffles his hair, “You'll be a soldier.”

 

Queen Cersei approaches them, and she looks how a queen is supposed to look, he wonders if he can say the same about her personality, as she smugly lifts her hand for him to kiss before quickly pulling away as if merely being touched by him is an insult to her person. “My Queen,” he says, then Catelyn soon does the same, while doing a curtsey. 

 

Robert begins to stride away “Take me to your crypt, Ned. I would pay my-” until he halts, and his usually red face pales, as he looks beyond the Starks of Winterfell, to the Snow child.  And the yard becomes thick with tension once again, the mood darkening in many more ways than one, for everyone.  For Robert, the Queen, Catelyn, Robb, Lyarra and himself.  

 

The queen's face becomes sour and Catelyn’s mirrors it but for different reasons, he's not sure what.  Robb’s eyes narrow at the king as he balls his fist, Lyarra is standing there like a frightened doe and Ned can feel his blood run cold. He knows that Lyarra favors Lyanna, and he knows his friend well enough to know that's who he sees in her.

 

“ _ And who is this Ned?, _ ” he doesn't even look at him when he ask, as if he is stuck in a trance.  He slowly makes his way through the line of people and he can see Lyarra’s breath quicken in fear, her eyes wide. 

 

He can't stop Robb from doing what he does. He is far quicker than Ned is, as he all but hastily goes in front of Lyarra pulling her close behind him, trying to protect her from the kings leering gaze.  She grabs onto his thick furs, burying herself into them as if they will make her disappear from everyone's curious gaze,  _ including _ the kings.

 

His smile is almost wolfish, “This is  _ my _ sister, your Grace.”, he says sardonically, his grin not reaching his eyes. And the king meets those eyes.  Ned feels his heart completely drop as he stares at the two, their eyes having a match, and he knows he should step in but he feels as if one move,  _ one _ wrong move and everything falls into ruin.  The blood has drained from Catelyn’s face and he can see the worry in her visage.  It seems as if time stood still and no one dared move or speak or breathe.

 

Robert peers down at Ned’s son, his eyes studying him, then looks to Lyarra, what little view he can get of her hiding form.  A mix of emotions crossing his face, to where Ned can barely decipher it.

 

Robert’s booming laugh echoes throughout the yard, “This one has the wolfsblood Ned!,” he looks toward his old friend before looking back at Robb, patting him on the shoulder in good nature, but Ned can see his son is not amused by the gesture,” Much like his uncle Brandon!,” ‘Yes, Brandon had the wolfsblood, and the wolfsblood got him killed.  And by the orders of a king.’ that thought unsettled him. “Don't worry lad, I mean your sister no harm.” He turns back to the Lord of Winterfell, “Come Ned! To the crypt…” he takes one quick glance back at Ned's children before continuing along.  

 

Ned releases a breath he didn't realize he was holding in. “Ned!,” Robert's voice snaps him out of his reverie.  He looks at Robert then at his children, and Robb is still standing there glaring daggers at the king, Lyarra holding onto him.  He forces himself to move.

  
  
  
  
  
  



	19. Chapter 19

Ned POV

  


His mind couldn't function properly, he was vaguely aware of half the conversation he had with Robert in the crypt, couldn't properly question Robert’s knowledge of Jon Arryn’s death.  He found himself nodding his head most of the time, _‘Yes your Grace’_ or _‘No your Grace’_ being the only words he managed to utter.  It was as if he was detached from his own body, his mind often floating to the thought of his son and his boldness to slight the king.  The king who was very infamous for his fury. _‘Ours is the fury’_ and Robert Baratheon stood true to those words.

 

Ned has never seen this side of Robb before.  It stunned him, to see his son act so reckless, so furious.  The wolfsblood the Stark’s are renowned for having, shined through.  The wolfsblood that often led Stark’s to their doom.  A part of him was pleased by the fact that Robb was eager to protect his siblings, the part of him that wanted to stay blind to the fact that what took place was anything but the overprotectiveness of a brother.  And perhaps, this is what Cat had been seeing. Although he's tried to ignore it, every since that day she spoke of her dark suspicions, the night Lyarra confessed that she was with child.

 

It had been innocent really, or at least _seemed_ innocent to those who didn't look closely, who refused to look past sibling affection.   Which he found himself trying to do more often than not in regards to those pair.  It was the morning after that night, and everyone was breaking their fast.  His mind had been muddled with several thoughts, but the thought of Lyarra stood out the most.  Promise me, father.  Promise me, Ned.  Both different promises from  different girls, and yet they were still the same, held the same weight that pressed down on his shoulders.  When he closed his eyes their image would often meld together, and they would utter the same yet different words. _Promise me father, Promise me Ned._  They echoed in his mind at the same time.

 

She sat alone, two tables away.  Ned couldn't help but observe her being, _‘She is with child.’,_ he marveled at the fact that the girl he held as a babe would now have one herself, marveled at the fact that he would be a grandfather, that Lyanna would have been a grandmother. She would have been a mother to, if she would've survived the birth.  That had made him sick with worry, because on both sides of Lyarra’s line, the women had  difficulties in the birthing bed, and perished soon after. _‘What if she doesn't survive? What if I lose her to?’_ the thought filled him with dread as he looked upon her. Her bowl was filled with boiled oats with sugar and butter, and she constantly stirred the contents of her meal, her mind in a daze.  Until she stilled her movement, eyes looking  up.  

 

Her eyes never met his, it met someone else's.   _Robb’s_ .  He sat only a row away from her, yet they were still in each other's line of sight.  Their eyes locked onto each other's, and Ned would have brushed it off, if it hadn't lasted longer than what was appropriate.  He couldn't help but get the sense that he was invading something by staring at them...staring at each other.  Like he was looking into something he wasn't supposed to be looking into.  At that moment, it was as if they had formed a world in which they only existed, and they only had eyes for each other, the only thing that kept their world together.  To say the least he felt… _uncomfortable_ , because he shouldn't feel this way about his children, shouldn't read so deeply into a shared look between siblings.  He saw a blush creep on her face, and her lips curled into a soft smile, _a knowing smile_ .  As if she was playfully hinting at something they only had knowledge of, and his son mirrored the same expression.  Then the gaze broke and they returned to their meal, as if nothing happened. _‘Because nothing happened,’_ Ned convinced himself, yet he couldn't deny that his skin slightly crawled whenever he thought about that morning, nor could he deny the sense of invasion or uncomfort it brought him.  And now those feelings only grew at the thought of Robb’s actions.

 

 _‘This is my sister, your Grace’_ _and she is mine_ were the words left unsaid, the words made him shudder. _‘We need to talk,’_ was all he could think as he knocked on his son's chamber door. There is no answer and tries again until he stops for a second, he could here muffled voices within.  He opens the door, only to find his wife frantically pacing back and forth within the room, Robb is sitting at the edge of his bed, looking abashed.  Catelyn must have given a lecturing worth a lifetime. She stops to look toward the door, her gaze softening before going hard again, “You must speak to your son. Make him see reason,”

 

“I was only protecting Lyarra,” he balls his fist “The king had no business looking at her like that.”

 

“He is the _king_ , Robb.  No matter how much you may take offense to his actions, he is the king and he could've had your head on a spike from his word alone!  Old friendships be damned!” that had made Ned flinch, the thought of Robert putting his son to the sword if he was angered enough, and yet that was all he thought about when his old friend peered into his sons eyes. “You jeopardised yourself, _your life,_ and for the likes of that... _girl!”_ she spits it out as if merely implying Lyarra was a curse itself.  He knew exactly which girl she was speaking of.  After today, all of Winterfell and the Royal Court would know.  This will not be easily forgotten, nor will it be lost on anyone that heir to Winterfell overstepped boundaries.

 

“Cat please-”

 

His son cuts him off, “She isn't just some girl. She is the-” he paused. “She is my sister. And I love her.”,that sense of awkwardness and uncomfort returned, his skin began to crawl.  

 

“I only meant that she is my sister, I only wanted to protect her.” He tries to mend the effect of his words, but it isn't lost on him that Robb considered his sister something other than _his sister_. And Ned knows for certain that it wasn't lost on Cat either.

 

“ _‘She is the’_ what, Robb?” Cat stares at their son in disbelief and disappoint.  He doesn't give him a chance to respond.

 

“What is going on between you and your sister?” Ned is tired of this madness. This speculation and secrecy.  Tired of the misery and recklessness his children have sunken into.

 

Robb tenses, before closing his eyes, “Nothing.  Nothing is going on.  Is it a crime for a man to protect his sister?”

 

“No, but it is a crime to sleep with her,” Cat quickly retorts, and the room becomes heavy with uncomfortable silence.

 

“What?” Robb stared at his mother in disbelief, not quite registering what she said, Ned couldn't even register it himself and he brought up the topic.  But he didn't do it in intentions to accuse his son, more to compress suspicions. He wants to stop this discourse, but he can't find it in himself to do so.  He doesn't have the heart to question his son on such things, he doesn't _want_ to question his son on such things, and yet he wants the truth. _Promise me father._

 

“Finish the sentence, son,” she gives him a pointed look, “She is the what?  What is she to you? Other than your bastard sister.”

 

“Mother, I don't-” he begins to say but Cat barely acknowledges his response.

 

Her eyes glisten, and her voice slightly wavers, “She is the mother of your child.” she says gravely “Is that what you meant to say?” she looks at him, as if she's seeing someone _else_. Her words dawning on her as tears fall out her eyes.

 

“Yes,” it is barely above a whisper, but Ned hears it all the same _.‘Promise me you won't hate him either or our child’_ she had cried into his arms that night.  It all made sense now, everything she had said, he was a fool to not see it before, to think otherwise when he did. “She is.” It terrified him, it sickened him.

 

He could end all of this now. Could tell them the truth of Lyarra, tell them why people have to believe she is his bastard, tell them of the promise he kept to Lyanna  and yet it still wouldn't take away all the hurt and pain his lies have caused everyone, the pain it's caused his wife. “Cat…” she shakes her head, wiping the tears away.

 

“She can't keep it. She _will not keep it,_ not here.” Her voice is cold as winter itself.  It sends chills down his spine, how can she be so cold?

 

He and Robb both look at her incredulously, “Cat, you can't possibly be serious?”

 

She turns toward him coolly, “ _I am_ .  It isn't too late for her to take moon tea.  I will not have another bastard running amongst our halls with our children.” **_By the gods_ **. “I will not endure another embarrassment or stain on my family's honor.”

 

Robb rises from his bed furiously “That is madness!”

 

She looks at their son with contempt and disappointment, “Madness? Madness is bedding and impregnating your own sister, bastard or not!”

 

He turns to Ned pleadingly, it reminded him of Lyarra when she had pleaded for him. “Father, I know what I did was wrong, I know I should've had better control of myself and my feelings but _please, please_ don't take it out on Lyarra.  Do you know what this would do to her?” His hands were shaking and he tried to put steel in his voice, but Ned could hear a quiver crack through.  He looked at his son, sorrowfully for what he was about to do.

 

“Lyarra will keep the child,” his son's eyes brightened a little, “ But it will _never_ be _yours_ .” and it left as quickly as it came. “You will not lay claim to the child.  You will only ever be seen as it's uncle,” he could feel his voice darkening. No matter how much sympathy he held for his son, it didn't change the fact that he laid with the woman he called sister, didn't change the fact that he dishonored her and himself. “Because you are Lyarra’s brother, _not_ her lover, therefore you are _not_ the father.”  His son's face became blank, his eyes devoid of any emotion.  He didn't say anything in response, but Ned took his silence as compliance.

 

He couldn't deny the fact that he felt guilty, so much guilt.  In truth, they've done nothing wrong, _not truly_ .  But in the eyes of men, the eyes of his wife, in their _own_ eyes they've committed one of the greatest sins that a person could commit. _Incest_ .  In Westeros, it was tolerated in some ways, mostly between cousins and second cousins, and the Targaryen’s were known for marrying brother and sister.  But they aren't Targaryen’s. Well Lyarra is, but she _doesn't_ know that. _‘God's be good,’,_ it was a horrible tug of war between right and wrong, the truth and the lies.

 

Catelyn doesn't seem completely pleased with this outcome, but is satisfied enough to leave the room without another word to either of them.  Robb meets his eyes dourly before looking away completely, and he can't name the feeling he gets when his own son refuses to look at him, for the pain and rage he caused him.   The silence is deafening, minutes pass before he speaks, but it felt like hours and he was only going to add more salt to the wound. “Robb,” he inclines his head to show that he is listening, yet he still  refuses to meet Ned’s gaze. “I am sorry. But this is the only way.” He considers his next words “Whatever is going on between you and Lyarra, it must end now.  It cannot continue, this can't happen again,”

 

Robb simply nods his head, mind in deep thought, “I understand father,” his voice is without feeling.  

 

Ned looks sullenly upon him, before nodding his head in recognition. “I will see you later tonight at the feast.” He takes one more look at his son, his son who is to be a father to a child that can never belong to him.  

 

He leaves out the room.

 


	20. Chapter 20

Robb POV 

 

He knows this is craven of him.  So _craven_ . But he can not go through with it.   _Will_ not go through with what his father commands.

 

To have a child that will never call you father, to love a woman that you can never have.

 

He wants Robb to leave Lyarra alone, to let her face it all alone, while her belly grows and the world shuns her for it.  Never knowing the part _he_ had to play in the life growing in her. His father wants him to abandon the child that he _created_ , the child that he created with _her_ .  He’s never felt this much loathing for his father, and he’s never felt so much anguish, not even when he and Lyarra were cold to each other.  It doesn't hold a candle to what he feels now.  It takes everything in him to not scream at the top of his lungs.   _They don't understand. They will never understand.  You can't help who you love._

 

The last place he wants to be is at the feast, with the king and his leering gaze on Lyarra. No one else saw it, if they did they refused to care, but he saw the way he _looked_ at her.  Like he had found the answer to all his troubles, all his heartache for the love that he lost.  Like she was something that was waiting to be conquered and devoured.  The mere thought of it sent his blood boiling.  He remembered the fear that set in her eyes at the sight of the kings large form coming her way, the way she froze.  Robb never wanted to see her like that again.  By putting her to the side, by ignoring the babe growing in her womb, he would.

 

He’s frantically pacing in his room, until he stops to breathe, to calm himself.  He looks out the window of his chambers, the sky is a hue of orange and violet, nearly setting into dusk. It's beautiful and it slightly subdues the qualms within his mind; and yet he can't fight back the urge to do something, anything.

 

 _Leave_ . They must leave, that is the only way they can be together, the only way he can lay claim to his child-no, _their child._  ‘ _But what of Winterfell? What of my responsibility here?’_ , the reasonable part of him was trying to push through and yet it didn't suffice. _‘I have a new responsibility now.  Winterfell will do fine without me.’._  He wants to leave, to get out of here as soon as possible, to leave behind the pain and misery his father wishes to condemn him to; and he can now understand how Lyarra felt all those months ago.

 

He quickly looks through his chest gathering two plain cloaks and saved allowance, golden dragons and silver stags. He sits them atop his bed, along with a dagger.

 

He looks toward his desk, and immediately goes to it, grabbing some parchment and a quill.  He hastily wrote and he hoped she would be able to decipher it.

 

 _‘Meet me by the stables, after the feast.’,_ it read.  He leaves out of his room to slip it under her door.


	21. Chapter 21

Lyarra POV 

 

Her stomach constantly fluttered, churning  anxiously as she made her way to the stables.  It is after dusk, and the feast is beginning to die down, a few minstrels still play tunes, but no one listens.  Southern Knights and Northmen alike linger outside and within the Great Hall, drinking the wine that still flows heavily, making lewd jest and talking about anything and nothing at all.  

 

The remnants of the feast are still here, yet it compares little to what it was hours before.  She'd never seen the Hall so lively, has never seen so many people in one place, not even when her father used to host his bannerman.  Still, she wasn't enthused with the entire affair.  The smell of different types of meat all at once had made her nauseous, it was so hot and stuffy she felt she could barely breathe at all.  She chose to stay hidden among the low born and bastard’s, chose to stay hidden from everyone's curious stares for the girl who caught the king's attention.  The king whose stare still fell upon her throughout the feast, when his attention would stray away from some serving girl or men trying to gain his favor.  She wouldn't have attended, had Arya not begged her to come along, _‘Don't leave me alone when Sansa’s in the presence of those southerners.  You know how she is.’,_ Lyarra relented, despite the fact that she wouldn't be seated amongst the trueborn Stark children, therefore not seated with her.

 

The night air was chilly, and with every breath she took it gave her an icy sensation in turn.  Her mind was awhirl with thoughts as she drew closer to the stables, overcrowded with the many horses brought along with the king and his retinue. It was dark, yet dimly lit with fading torch light.  She couldn't wrap her mind around why Robb would ask her to come here, and the more she thought, the more she was filled with dread and worry.  He hasn't spoken to her since early that morning and he avoided her during the feast. She would still catch his eyes staring at her, then turning away quickly.

 

She looked at the desolate area, spotting no one near, before leaning against the stables wall with a sigh.  She closed her eyes, taking in the distant sound of horse hooves and summer melodies. Until she felt a warm hand gently pressed against her face, “Lyarra,” she opened her eyes to find Robb standing before her, face in close proximity.  He placed his lips on hers, as his fingers slowly delves into her hair.  He stops, resting his head against her own.

 

“Robb,” she starts “Is everything alright?” he slightly leans away, eyes locking onto hers, and there's so much despair in them.

 

He bites his lower lip, before releasing a breath, shutting his eyes, “Lyarra,” he paused, then started again. “They know.   _Father_ knows.”.

 

 _What_? “What?”

 

“They know Lyarra, about us.” She tries to find something to say, but words are lost to her and she feels as if she might faint at any moment. _They know_ .  Those two words had made her mind freeze.  He quickly grabs her hand, and it's shaking. “Lya, listen to me, we must leave.   _Now_.”

 

“What?” she barely croaks out, and that seems to be the only thing she can say, the only thing she can think.

 

“We will be miserable here, if we stay Lyarra.  That is why we must-,” he stops.

 

Warm streams of tears fall out of her eyes, and there isn't a word to describe how she feels right now.   _They know.  Father knows._  She remembers the night she threw herself into his arms, pleading for him to forgive her, forgive Robb, forgive the child growing in her womb, in a form of a promise. At the time he didn't know the truth, didn't understand the reason for her sorrow, but now he does and she wonders if he'll stay true to that promise.  But from the way Robb looks at her pleadingly, she knows that he won't.  Fear, shame and guilt is all she feels as her world collapses.  More tears fall, and he brings her into his arms, head resting on his chest as he rubs her hair soothingly. “Why?,” she asked shakily.  It's stupid really, she knows why.

 

“He wants me to let you go, Lyarra. He wants me to let go of our child,” he lifts her head, looking into her grey eyes “I can't do that, Lyarra.  I can't do that to you.  I promised I’d never hurt you again. _And I am never going to hurt you again_ .” He pauses, taking her lips again, hands cupping her face. “ _Please_. We must leave.”.

 

She thinks about all those nights ago, when  she told him she carried his child, when he begged her to marry him.  Now they find themselves in the same predicament, for different reasons, for the same reasons.  She's overwhelmed with a new emotion, and she'd felt it before but never this strongly.  She had thought she felt it , when she first gave herself to Robb, thought she felt it every time after, thought she felt it when she told him she was pregnant and he didn't hate or shun her. But now, she knows what she feels, she's feels it now as she stares back into his blue eyes.  

 

Love, and it outweighs everything else entirely, all the fear and shame.  She finds herself nodding her head without a second thought, “Okay,” she can see the relief in his visage “Okay.” she whispers faintly. She can feel relief in herself.

 


	22. Chapter 22

Lyarra POV 

 

Her blood rushed with fear and excitement, as they approached the East gate.  She pulled the large cloak wrapped around her tighter, concealing her face, before clinging onto Robb’s own cloaked form.  They sit astride a horse, blending in with the people both entering and leaving Winterfell’s walls.  Her breath quickened when they drew near some of the guards, who were half dazed with drunkenness from the wines the feast offered. She took her gaze off of them, when one caught her stare.  She thanked the gods someone else drew his attention, as she and Robb rode out of the gates.

 

As soon as they were a few yards away, the horse broke off in speed, the hood of her cloak falling off her head, wind whipping in her ear.  Although it was cold she couldn't help but feel warm.  They were leaving it all behind, leaving Winterfell behind, to- _ to gods know where _ .  She hadn't really inquired Robb about their destination, just eager to leave the life of misery that the old grey walls promised.  And she's never felt this free, has never felt this much hope.

 

She chanced a look behind her, the distance growing, the ancient castle becoming smaller with each gallop.  Despite it all, a small part of her is saddened, to leave the people she loves behind.  To leave father, Arya and Bran. Then she remembers what staying there would mean for her, for Robb, for their child.  _ ‘It's for the best, it's all for the best.’. _

 

They rode hard through the woods, never lingering to long on the road.  They hardly spoke a word to each other, but both were comfortable in the silence, getting lost within their thoughts.  Lyarra would often rest her head on his shoulder, when the pace would become slow, and her eyelids would become heavy.  She would hastily open them up again, trying to stay aware and alert.  All until they stayed shut completely.  When she woke, it was to a warm embrace and cool air, the sky transitioning from dark indigo to light blue. For a moment she was completely confused as to why she was sleeping outside, then the event’s of the night before came back to her.  She looked around to see the black stallion that they rode upon tied to a nearby tree.  Robb’s arms are around her,holding tight, as their melding forms lay wrapped beneath his large cloak, leaning against a tree.

 

Her head rest above his chest, and she can hear the gentle beat of his heart, his soft breathing. She lifts her head to see his face.  It is clean shaven and porcelain, save his cheek’s that are tinted pink from the morning air.  _  ‘He is beautiful.’, _ that is all she can think, and she hopes their child looks everything like him.  She is startled out of her trance when his eyes open to meet hers, “Lyarra,” he says, a smile forming on his lips.

 

“Robb,” she returns a smile of her own, until his slips away.  He looks around for a moment, before looking back to her in seriousness.

 

“Come on,” He helps her up, putting on his cloak. “We must continue.” He walks her toward the horse, loosening the knot to the tree, he lifts her atop it before getting on himself.

 

They ride for hours more, time constantly slipping by.  Before she knows it, the sun has began to rise and it is nearing the hour of dawn.  _ ‘They won't know that we are gone until after.’ _ .  The servants should be stirring, along with the guards but that's it.  There is no one who wakes this early that will notice their presence gone.  And even then, Winterfell is crowded with hundreds of people from the Royal Court, their absence won't be noted immediately. She releases a breath, the mere thought of what they are doing still makes her stomach flip.

 

After some time, she heard the rapid stream of water close by. A river, where he stopped to let the horse get it's fill. “Where are we?”

 

“Near the mouth of the White Knife,” he rest a hand on the horses mound. “Close to White Harbor,” He opens his mouth to say more, but decides against it.

 

“What's in White Harbor?” she inquires softly. 

 

“Ships.” Her stomach flips again.

 


	23. Chapter 23

Theon POV 

 

His head throbbed, a constant ache that never seemed to dull.  _  ‘The Drowned God’ _ he found himself thinking as he shifted his form, only to find a soft body pressed against it.  Red curls spiralled across his chest, leading to a comely face and gentle breathing.  He could feel himself hardening at the feel of her breast pressed against him, legs curled around his.  He savored the moment, the feel of a body warm and willing; but only for a fleeting moment. 

 

“Get off of me,” he pushes her small body off of him, her form sleepily rolling over to the side in response, a groan leaving her lips.  He throws his legs over the side of the bed, slipping on his tunic and jerkin, then his breeches and boots.  He grabs his cloak, leaving the room. 

 

The musky smell of sex and wine is thick, and muffled moans can be heard through the walls of the brothel.  Naked girls with little pieces of fabric hanging off their hips sway around lusty men,deep in their cups. 

 

He leaves the building, breathing in the fresh smell of pine and baked breads.  It was a stark contrast to the must of the brothel.  He breathes it in heavily, making his way out of Winter Town, toward the main gates.

 

Everyone within Winterfell was moving to and fro, the servants were constantly leaving and entering the Guest Keep, and the kitchens smelled of sausage and buttered bread.  He enters the Great Hall, greeted by the sight of familiar faces, as well as unfamiliar faces, he couldn't help but feel uneased by them.  His gaze searched the hall, looking for Robb. Unable to find his friend, he shrugs taking a seat at one of the tables.

 

It wasn't unusual, at least not  _ anymore _ .  For many moons now, his friend has taken to staying within his chambers come morning and Theon could only think of one reason why.   _ A girl _ .  And it's seemed to change him in more ways than one.  Especially with his fits of melancholy and brooding.  And Robb’s never been one to brood.  Whoever this girl is, she has him wrapped around her finger, as well as her skirts.  He admits, he's curious as to who it could possibly be, that made the honorable little Stark, who's always eager to do his father proud, forget said honor.  _  ‘They aren't so honorable after all,’ _ he thinks with a smirk.

 

He begins to stir the contents within his bowl, grabbing a piece of bacon on the serving platters.  He raises it to his mouth, stopping mid way, looking up to see grey eyes glaring at him.  He freezes, eyes not moving from Lord Stark’s.  He sits at the dais, the king next to him, although the king hasn't noticed his friends attention has swayed. For a second, Theon wonders if he read his mind, and perhaps that is why he currently looks at him like this.  He's never garnered Lord Stark’s attention, at least not with this much intensity, and it sends chills through him.

 

Theon watches as he excuses himself from the king, making his way toward him.  He stops on the other side of table, furrowing his brow, before hesitantly sitting down across from him. “Theon,”

 

“Lord Stark,” he nods his head in respect, and that is all.  He has nothing else to say, he's never had a conversation with Lord Stark that wasn't formal or impersonal.  Always reminding him that Winterfell isn't his place, and despite his closeness to Robb, he isn't family. He doesn't know what to say, so he says nothing at all, waiting anxiously for him to respond.

 

Lord Stark studies him, before responding awkwardly, “Are you fine?” 

 

He realizes his hand is slightly shaking, quickly placing it under the table. “I am fine,” he nods again “Thank you.” He doesn't know why he’s thanking him.

 

“Aye,” he sighs, “Have you seen Robb this morn?”

 

“No,” he shakes his head “I haven't seen him since last night, my lord.” Lord Stark’s face slightly pales, as he closes his eyes, rubbing his brow.

 

“Alright,” he opens his eyes “I’m tasking you with the job of finding my son. Can you do that Theon?”

 

“Aye,” he smiles awkwardly, “He should be around here somewhere, my lord. Winterfell’s a big castle.”

 

He smiles in return, but it's stiff. It's not like the smiles he gives his children, a father's smile, leaving him with a sense of yearning. He squashes it instantly. 

 

“Thank you. Tell him to come to my solar when you see him,” with a nod of his head, he leaves the table going back up to the dais, sitting next to the king again.  There is worry in Lord Stark’s visage, but it quickly goes away when King Robert slaps him on the back, making a jest.

  
  
  
  



	24. Chapter 24

The sea breeze brushed against her skin as they rode into the city. The air was heavy with a sweet and salty scent.  Near by houses shined in the light, the whitestone reflecting it, and the grounds were made of smooth cobblestone.  

 

The port held several docks filled with galleys and ships, she saw men carrying loads of crates or gathering nets of fish into them.  She thought she had seen diverse sets of people when the king came to Winterfell, but now she knew she was mistaken.  There were men with hair the shade of blue or green, some had skin ranging from copper to the darkest shade of brown.  She tried not to stare in awe at everything she saw, as Robb led her to the nearest inn.

 

She was engulfed with the smell of grilled fish and ale.  Bar maids carried trays of food and drink, while men repeated lyrics to bawdy songs. Still, Lyarra couldn't help but feel like everyone was watching her, she kept her line of sight straight, while Robb paid for a room.  

 

They walked up a flight of stairs entering a hallway filled with rooms. He goes left, entering theirs.  It's half the size hers was, with a straw bed on one side of the room and an old wooden chair on the other.  She sits on the edge of the bed,  looking around before her eyes settle on Robb; and his settles on her. “Are you alright? Do you need anything?” he sits next to her, hand resting on hers.

 

She shakes her head, “No, I'm fine,” she hesitates for a second, “Where are we going?”

 

It's silent, and all she can hear is the distant laughing and singing in the background. “South,” he paused, “As far as south goes.”,  _ far from the north _ , is left unsaid.  _ ‘Far away from Winterfell.’  _ She nods her head in recognition.

 

He kisses her forehead, getting up to leave, until she hastily takes hold of his arm, “Where are  _ you _ going?” he looks down at her, before sighing, a smile on his lips.

 

“I have something I need to take care of,” He removes her hand “It will only take a moment.” he turns around to leave, before she stops him again.

 

“Wait,” he turns toward her, eyebrow raised. She breathes in, closing her eyes. “ _ Please _ , be careful.”

 

“I promise I will,” his voice is soft.

 

“I love you Robb,” she whispers, her voice faint.  She feels his lips brush against hers, she opens her eyes to look into his.

 

“I love you too.  _ More than you can know _ ,” he smiles again, leaving the room soon after.  She falls back into the pile of woolen covers that sit atop the straw bed.  Her body is sore from the hard riding, and the rest she had was anything but proper, the little she managed to get.  The exhaustion settled in, and sleep overcame her.

 

When she wakes, it's to Robb gently shaking her form.  She nearly jumps, her eyes taking in his appearance.  No longer is his hair the beautiful auburn she grew to love, but instead it's locks as dark as coal; and she thinks it  _ is _ coal. “By the gods…” her voice trails off.  For a moment he looks just like their father, just like a Stark.   She wonders if he notices.

 

“Lyarra,” he placed folded clothes in her hand, “You need to put these on,” he grabbed a piece of her hair, staring at it pained “I'm going to have to cut it, as much as I will hate doing so.”

 

She smiled reassuringly “It doesn't matter,”.

 

That was a hour ago.  They now walk along the docks, although Lyarra doesn't know exactly where they are going, she can assume it's a ship. They're completely different people from whom they were hours earlier,  _ ‘No, from who we were moons ago.’.   _ She wears dark brown breeches and leather boots, a large tunic and a cloak over her form.  Her once long hair now rests under her ear and on her neck, coiled tightly.  She thinks she looks like a boy, but Robb assures her she's beautiful to him.  Lyarra jokingly tells him not to say that in front of anyone else, lest they get the  _ wrong _ idea.  She also finds that ironic, considering their  _ situation _ .

 

“If anyone ask, your name is...” He thinks for a moment, “Jon. Your name will be Jon Snow.” 

 

“Jon Snow,” she lets the name roll off her tongue, getting used to the sound of it. “My name is Jon Snow.” She tries to imitate a deeper voice, but fails miserably.  He releases a laugh, and she shoves him for it. “Don't laugh, I'm trying.” 

 

“I know,” a smile graced his face, as he stares at her.

 

Her face softens, “What will your name be?”

 

He slightly cringed, running his fingers through his hair, “Perhaps...Edd? Edric?” he pauses. “Edric will do fine.”

 

They stop in front of a trading vessel, and she can feel her heart quicken with fear and anticipation, because this must be it.  _ ‘This is it.’  _ “We are here,” he begins, looking upon the vessel with determination, “The ‘ _ SeaJoy _ ’.  That's the name.” She nods her head, but she could care less about what it is called, she knows he doesn't care either, she can only think about what this  _ means _ for them.  And it means so many things _. ‘Leaving the family that I've known my entire life, in exchange for my own. Leaving the home that was never mine, for a new one, far away in the south.’. _

 

“Stay here,” he walks toward the men lifting cargo, going to one in particular.  He's an older man, with greying hair on his beard and balding head.  His eyes are a vibrant brown, and they seem kind, although she can't be so sure. Sweat drips from his brow, and he is clad in dark clothing and leather gloves. Robb says something to him, and he gives words in exchange, the man crossing his arms over his chest. Then he looks toward her, and smiles gently nodding his head, she smiled back awkwardly.  Robb turns toward her, gesturing for her to come forward. He rests a hand on her shoulder, “This is my friend, Jon.” She reaches out her hand, and he takes it with his right hand, shaking it vigorously.

 

“The names Ser Davos, I'm glad to have more men joining my crew, even for just a short time,” he stops for a moment, eyes furrowing, as they study her face.  Her heart leaps, until his face softens again, “We should be setting sail in a hour or so.  In the meantime you can get settled in, then start helping with some of the cargo, to get a start on our agreement.” his hand gestures toward Robb.

 

“Aye, thank you Ser,” Ser Davos nods his head, taking another look at Lyarra before smiling, his form retreating soon after.

 

They walk up the wooden gangplank, leading to the main deck of the vessel, she notices a sigil of a black boat on a grey background on the sails, she can assume it's Ser Davos’s.  Robb leads her to the compartments beneath the deck, taking her into a room smaller than the one he bought at the inn. There are two straw beds on each side, and a circular window in between them on the wall. “We'll be staying here,” he says.  It's a long moment before either of them say anything else.  The situation finally dawning on them. She wants to talk about it, but she doesn't.

 

“How did you get us a passage?”

 

“I agreed to help out at each port we stopped at, until we make it to…” he stops, before starting again “Planky Town.”

 

_ ‘Planky Town. Planky Town, the main port of Dorne’ _ she controls her breathing, “I didn't realize we were going that far south, but it makes sense. People are less likely to search for us there, and no one will recognize us if they do.” She nods her head, getting comfortable with the idea, and yet she can feel butterflies in her stomach. 

 

“Lyarra,” he whispers, “ We'll be fine. We're going to be okay, I promise.”

 

She can feel herself calm at that, then rests a hand upon his face, “I know,” she takes his lips with hers. “I know.”

 

“You don't have to do anything now.  I'll handle the cargo for most of the journey.” He smiles, humor seeping into his voice “All you'll need to do is cook for the crew and clean the decks.  This should be interesting.”

 

She rolls her eyes at this, giving him a soft “Whatever.” a smile gracing her face.

 

“I have to go now, but I'll be back soon,” she nods her head, sitting on the straw bed, as he makes his way out.  She tries to close her eyes and sleep, but all she can do is think. Think about what awaits her in the future, about the life growing in her, how one day she'll hold it in her arms, about the past and what it's caused in the present.  She thinks about all those moons ago, when it first started, when she first fell in love with him. She thinks about all the pain and joy their love has brought them.  The pain it will soon bring  their family, their father.  _ ‘Would I do it all again, if I could go back to the beginning?’ _ she doesn't need to think twice  _ ‘Of course,’ _ she rests a hand on her belly, rubbing it continuously,  _ ‘and I know he would do it again for me.’. _  Her chest swells with the feelings of  love and happiness, it almost hurts, and she finds herself closing her eyes in content.

 

When she awakes again, it's to a gently rocking bed, and she almost panics until she remembers where she is.  She can see outside the little window, and the sky is a hue of orange and gold,  _ ‘It must be noon,’.  _  She gets up shakily making her way toward the door, before it opens revealing Robb, and she still can't get over the fact that his hair is as dark as hers. “Lya, I was coming to get you,” he takes her hand leading her to the main deck. 

 

“Look.” And that is all he needs to say, as she stares at the receding form of White Harbor.  Already it's beginning to be a speck of white on the aqua sea, the north far behind them, their old lives far behind them, their family far behind them. 

  
Lyarra realizes that she's okay with that, with leaving it all behind.  Robb smiles at her, she thinks he's okay to.


	25. Chapter 25

 

Theon POV

Winterfell descended into chaos at news of Robb missing, it became down right out of control when Lyarra was reported missing as well. The assembled guards constantly rode in and out Winterfell gates, entering the wolfswood, Winter Town and the Kingsroad.  Tracking hounds always stood close by, sniffing out any smell that was available, but every time they felt they were closer to a clue or scent, it would weaken.

 

He remembered when he first told Lord Stark his son was gone, the paleness that immediately set in his frozen visage.  He had been sitting in his solar having a conversation with the king, when Jory and Theon hastily came in.  He had picked up Jory along the way, when his search for Robb had become dire. “My Lord,” he had hesitated. “Robb...I can't find him. I searched everywhere and I can't find him.”.

 

They had instantly rose from their seats at that, the king speaking before Lord Stark had a chance to, “Well, where the hell could he possibly be?”

 

“We don't know, your Grace,”

 

Lord Stark became eerily quiet before speaking, “Assemble the guards immediately,” no one said anything when the usually well composed Lord Stark’s hands began to slightly shake. The King had insisted on assigning some of his guards as well.

 

They questioned the servants, the kitchen maids, and the stable hands, but they were no closer to finding anything then they were before.  All until one of the servants came with even more dreadful news, “The Lady Lyarra is missing as well milord, I went to clean out her chambers and she wasn't there,”.  It wasn't for certain of course, Lyarra could have been anywhere within the castle, there were so many people they probably missed her.  But they didn't, because _she wasn't there_ .  The news had spread quickly, northern inhabitants and southern guest alike whispered about the missing heir and bastard of Winterfell.  How one moment they were there and the next they were gone.  They began to come up with speculations of their own, the next one being absurd as the last, but then again could he be for certain?  Perhaps there was some truth in what they said.  Some say Lyarra was kidnapped by wildlings, refusing to believe Robb was related to her absence.  Some say he _stole_ his own sister away, like the northern savage he is, according to some southern's, implying the _worst_ of the situation.  And some simply believe they ran away _together_ , the gods only know why, “ _Perhaps she seduced her own brother_ ,” some said “ _you know the way bastards are.”._

 

With each theory coming to light, Theon became sickened. He didn't know how to feel about his friend, his friend who was like a brother to him.  He remembered the little red head boy, only ten name days, who used to follow him around, admiration gleaming in his eyes.  He tried to imagine that same boy running away with his own sister.  He grimaced, _‘They aren't so honorable after all,’_ he found himself thinking again.

  
They now ride in from the East Gate, Lord Stark at the head of their search party.  He had been silent throughout the whole search, a faraway look in his grey eyes.  It is noon now, the sky a hue of gold and orange; and they still have yet to find either of them.  Theon has made peace with the fact that they won't.  


	26. Chapter 26

Jaime POV 

They ride for hours on end throughout the Kingsroad, the hounds trailing not far behind.  The air was cold and crisp against his skin, as snow began to fall.  It is the height of summer, and it is  _ snowing _ . Usually he would have commented on how absurd the northern weather was, but now was not one of those times.  It never seemed to  _ be _ the  _ right _ time, for the atmosphere had turned dark and sullen the moment word got out that Eddard Stark's son and bastard daughter were missing.

 

When Jaime had first heard of it, he had truly thought it a joke, a misunderstanding.  Then he saw Stark, saw the paleness of his skin and dread in his eyes, and he knew it to be true.  He couldn't believe it, couldn't really wrap his mind around it, he could only imagine how the Lord of Winterfell felt.  To think, that a  _ Stark _ would run away with his own  _ sister _ , damming everything else.  ‘ _ Damming his responsibility as heir, damming his honor, damming everything, all for her.  For the woman he loved.’  _

 

He heard some of the rumors, about the Snow girl being kidnapped by wildling savages, about her being kidnapped by her  _ own _ brother.  But he knew, from the moment he first set eyes on them, what they  _ truly _ were to each other.  He saw the truth of it and he knows, despite how displeased she was with the entire situation, Cersei saw it too.  He remembered the way her gaze had slightly softened at the bastard girl, but only  _ slightly _ .  He remembered the way Robb Stark had fiercely protected his sister from Robert’s lusting gaze and Jaime wished he could do the same most of the time.

 

He envied  _ him _ , he envied  _ them _ .  There were days when he envisioned him and Cersei gathering their children and taking a ship to Essos.   _ Letting go of it all. _ Letting go of the name Lannister, letting go of Casterly Rock and that blasted pile of melted swords. So they could be free and love each other without being ashamed of it, without hiding behind closed doors. But Cersei always valued power more than she did their love. 

 

Robb Stark did what he only dreams he can do, and for that he envies him.  He  _ admires _ him.  

 

It is dusk when they ride through the gates of Winterfell, the stable hands gathering their horses, as they make their way to the the Great Hall.  The mix of southern and northern guards are weary and tired, while Lord Stark looks absolutely drained.  Jaime almost pities him,  _ almost _ .  They had yet to find clues as to where his missing children could have went.  They all enter the hall, immediately engulfed by the warmth of the hearth.  The king sits upon the throne of winter, garbed in furs.  A goblet of wine rest in his hands, and his face is beat red _. ‘As expected,’. _

 

“Your Grace,” Stark’s voice is grim, as he gravels before the Fat King, everyone doing the same.  Cersei is seated next to him, pretending to be indifferent to the situation,  _ but he knows…. _

 

“Rise,” he gestured his hand, the guards standing to their feet again. “Have you found anything Ned?,” he has been  _ disturbingly _  interested in the sudden disappearance of Robb Stark and Lyarra Snow, and Jaime has an inkling of why that is. He wonders if Stark knows to.

 

“No your Grace, we haven't found anything,” his voice is low and tired.

 

It's silent for a moment before Robert grumbles, rubbing his beard, “What of the girl,have you found anything of her yet?” Lord Stark’s form stills, as he stares at the king incredulously.

 

“As I have said  _ before _ your Grace, we have found nothing of my son or my daughter.” His words became stern, and the knight could feel the air became tense.

 

King Robert glares down at his friend, eyes darkening, “There's something not right here Ned.   Something's not right with that boy of your’s.  What business does he have taking off with his own sister!  And a  _ sweet girl _ like that…” his voice trails off, before darkening completely, and for a moment he is something reminiscent to the Demon of the Trident, “No, she wouldn't have gone willingly.  Something is  _ very _ wrong here Ned, something is wrong with that boy.” It is as if he is drifting to another time, another place in his mind that is so similar to this one.

 

The silence was almost deafening, no one dared to utter a word.  Except Stark, “That is  _ my son _ you speak of Robert,  _ my son _ . And  _ my _ daughter.  They are my business and my business alone, not yours,” he says it dangerously low, “This is over now.  We will began searching again, tomorrow,” he sounded sorrowful and defeated by that, but steeled his voice nonetheless. 

 

“Like hell we won't!” the king's voice booms throughout the hall freezing everyone in it. He slammed his fist against the wooden arm rest, “They are missing! She is missing!  He has your daughter dammit, he has  _ Lyanna _ !” the tension in the air was so thick a knife could slice through it.  Everyone was deathly quiet, for there was nothing they could say, nothing they would want to say, or do. He looked toward Cersei and she was still as a statue, face pale and hands clenched tightly.

 

Lord Stark’s eyes darkened and his face became devoid of any emotion, “Lyanna? Is that what this is about?  Lyarra is not Lyanna, Robert. This isn't about you, this isn't about her.” He says it through gritted teeth, “And for you to even assume that my son would...that he would rape and kidnap…” he shook his head, eyes closed. “You may be king, but you are within my home.  And we are discussing my children, and this discussion ends now.” He turns to leave. “Goodnight your Grace.”

 

Roberts face becomes more red, if that could even be considered possible. “As the future Hand you have a duty to obey your king!” he rises from the wooden throne, goblet dropping to the floor.

 

Eddard Stark halts in his steps, hands tightened, his knuckles became pure white. He turns around to face Robert, looking him in his eyes heatedly, “It is my deepest apologies to you your Grace,”his voice lacks any form of emotion “But I will be declining the  _ honor _ you wish to bestow upon me.  My heir is missing, my daughter is missing, and my family needs me here.   _ There must always be a Stark in Winterfell _ and I intend to be so.  I  _ will not _ go south with you, I  _ will stay _ north, where I belong.” And without another word he leaves the hall, leaving stunned silence in his wake.

 

It's quite for a good minute, before Robert starts screaming bloody murder.

 

Jaime think’s on the moment he first set foot in Winterfell, he remembers thinking about how dreary and boring these people were but now… _ ‘These Stark’s  _ aren't _ so boring after all.’. _


	27. Chapter 27

Ned POV 

 

He needed to get away from everything and everyone.  Needed to escape the problem’s that now burdened him, and breathe for a moment.  Even just for a  _ moment _ .  He wanted to be alone and isolated, to grieve and cry without feeling ashamed.  His son is gone, his daughter is gone, and he may never  _ see _ them again.  And Robert… he isn't the same man Ned grew to love, the man he chose as his brother by choice.  No this was a different man entirely, one  _ depraved _ and consumed by  _ grief and bitterness _ .  He refuses to call that man, that  _ stranger _ , his friend. Refuses to stand by his side.  The north is where he belongs, with his family in Winterfell.  He doesn't know why he first thought otherwise.  He feels relieved by the fact that the king will be leaving on the morrow, after staying under the same roof with him for a sennight since his...outburst.

 

He sits in his solar, head resting on his desk, as he sinks further into sorrow and self loathing.  It is as if history repeated itself, living through people, putting them in the same predicament as those before them.  Ned wondered why it always had to be through the people  _ he _ loved and cared about.   _ ‘Perhaps because I've never learned,’  _ history only repeats to those who never learn,  _ ‘I did that when I hid the truth, when I fed lies to the people I love.  Isn't that how all of this started? With hidden truths and false truths,’. _ The lie that was constantly told, still is told because no one would accept the truth of it. _ ‘You were never stolen, he never took you.  The only thing he stole was your heart and the realm burned for it.  Father burned for it, Brandon died for it.’  _ He can't stop the silent tears,  _ ‘And now your daughter has done the same.’ _

 

A knock on his solar door startles him out of his reverie.  The door opens before he can dismiss the invader, only to reveal his wife.  Her auburn hair is disheveled, face flushed and eyes rimmed red.  There is tears rolling down her cheeks, and she doesn't try to wipe them away, “Ned,” her voice sounds raspy and weak. “Have you...have you found…” words trail off.

 

He looks at her gravely.  As soon as Catelyn had heard that their son was gone, she went into straight panic until she locked herself within their chambers, her sobs echoing throughout the halls, “Nothing.” is all he can say, and it's strange to hear his voice after days of avoiding the use of it, of having nothing to say.  Her face falls and eyes sheen  with rage.

 

“Why,” she says, voice shaking from tears and anger, “Why did you have to bring that girl back into our home?” she waits to him to respond, but he doesn't, just rest his head in the palms of his hands.

 

Her eyes looks toward the window, a far away look in them, “Every time I looked at that girl, all I ever saw was her mother.  The woman that you dishonored me for...every day I was reminded of how much you loved another woman far more than you…” her voice trails off again as more tears fall.  _ Far more than you ever loved me _ is left unsaid but Ned hears it all the same.  He doesn't pretend it doesn't hurt him. “So much love for her that you were willing to bring her daughter into  _ our _ home, the home that I made with you, made a family… Was she so beautiful Ned? Was she that charming that she captured your heart?... And now her daughter has done the same to our son,” she stays silent waiting for him to say something, anything, but he gives her no response at all. It makes her ire rise “Everything was fine with her gone!  Why did you bring her back, Ned!  She has stolen away my son, our son. And you brought her back!  You dishonored me by bringing her into our home, and you have done so again!” She is out of breath by time she is finished.

 

Ned is tired, tired of the lies and the hidden truths. “She isn't my daughter.” It slips out of his mouth before he can even stop it, before he can think it through.

 

Her body completely freezes, brow furrowing in confusion, “What-”

 

“She isn't my daughter,” he tries to stop them, the tears, but they come out all the same and he covers his face in shame. “She isn't my daughter.  But I promised her mother Cat, I had to, for she is my blood.  I did it to protect her babe and now she is gone.” His voice is barely above a whisper, but he knows Catelyn heard every word.  He wishes he could take them back, but he can't deny how good it feels to tell the truth. “I've never dishonored you,” he looks up and into her eyes, “And I have always loved you Cat, and only you.”

  
It's silent, and the only thing he can hear is her shaky breaths. She places her hand over her chest, than her mouth as more tears roll down her face, trying to conceal her sobs.  She backs away slowly, looking at him in pain and disbelief, before turning around completely and leaving the room.  He watched her form disappear behind the door, and he wonders if anything will be the same between them after this.


	28. Chapter 28

Robb POV 

 

He could see rocky hills and small mountains in the distance, as the ‘ _SeaJoy_ ’ approached the Bay of Crabs, nearing Gulltown.  He stood there leaning against the wooden mast on the main deck.  It was early yet, and the sky was covered in clouds making it seem grey.  It reminded him of home.

 

It's been a moon since they left the North, and although he was finally happy to be away, happy to be with Lyarra, he couldn't deny that he missed it so.

 

He spent most of his days helping Lyarra clean the deck and gather fish with one of the crew members, Keynes, who he is becoming fast friends with.  In a way, he reminds him of Theon, with his love for the sea and ships, although he is from Dorne.  He had once asked the Dornishman what was bringing him back to land, what stopped him from never returning to it.  His copper face had gone soft with longing, a smile playing on his lips, “The one that I hold more dear than the sea itself,” Robb smiled in turn, he knew that feeling, _‘To let go of everything for the one that you love.’_ “She's heavy with child, due any day now.  I plan to be there by her side.”.  Lyarra herself was beginning to show, her stomach now plump and round, which she hid with shirts larger than her form.  He often found himself caressing her middle when she slept.

 

During their first stops, he was more often than not left fatigued from lifting heavy crates and cargo into the ship.  Then Ser Davos would pull him to the side hours after, and talk to him about different methods in sailing ships or how he came into service of Stannis Baratheon, who he is _undyingly_ loyal to.

 

The man could go on for hours about the sea and vessels, and like Keynes, he reminded him of Theon as well.  Which is strange, considering the fact Theon hasn't actually _been_ at sea since he was brought to Winterfell, but Robb always enjoyed listening to his stories about the Iron Islands and the people's love for the ocean.  

 

“Edric,” a voice he was becoming familiar with sounded from behind him. He turned around to see the kind face of Ser Davos, hands behind his back, as he walked toward him. “I hope you don't mind me intruding, you seemed to be deep in thought.”

 

He shook his head, “No it's fine.  It is _your_ ship, I think you're allowed to go where you please,” he smiles, voice humorous.

 

“Aye, that is true,”he smiles, as he stops next to Robb.  It's silent for a second before the Onion Knight speaks again, “Why Dorne?”

 

That through him off guard, “What?” he asked, startled.

 

“Well, you said you mean to leave as soon as we dock at Planky Town, in Dorne.  I hope you don't mind me asking, I just wanted to know...why?” he stared at him questioningly.

 

Robb simply shrugs his shoulders, “Why not?” _‘Why do you care?’._

 

“Well, Dorne has always seemed unpleasant to me.  Worse than King's Landing even-” he pauses, “No, scratch that, nothing can be more _unpleasant_ than Kings Landing,” the old man cringed at the thought while Robb let out a small laugh. “But still, Dorne is hot and as isolated as the North.  What will you be finding there that you can't North or anywhere else?”.

 

Robb thinks for a way to respond before saying, “Freedom, I guess.  The say people in Dorne are freer than most.”.

 

The knight stares at him curiously, he begins to speak again before one of the seaman cuts him off, “Ser, where getting ready to dock,” at that Ser Davos hurriedly walks away, to prepare the ship for stop.

 

Later that night he sat around a table, in the small galley that was beneath the deck.  It was stuffy and his body was hot from the constant lifting and moving of cargo. Lyarra and Ser Davos set across from him, they were having a conversation about different types of seasonings that one could use in meals. Apparently, Lyarra took to the task of cooking, doing it as often as possible.  She sat there, listening intently, her eyes filled with quiet determination to make the stew just right next time.  He couldn't help but smile at her.  He'd carry thousands of cargo and clean hundreds of decks just to see her like this, her only worry being how to make her stew taste better.  She looked at him, smiling in return, before looking back at Davos, “I'm quite tired, I think I'll call in for tonight,” she stands up leaving the room, leaving Robb alone with the Onion Knight.

 

He was now staring at him again, with that same curious gaze, “She's your girl, isn't she,” he says matter of factly.  Although Robb has had a feeling he knew more than he let on for a while now, with his constant prying and questions.

 

He sighs, “Aye, she is.” he wondered what _else_ he knew, hopefully not too much.  Since he's left, he's only heard few stories of what's happened since he and Lyarra left Winterfell, such as his father refusing to become Hand,  but further south they went, the less they heard.  It doesn't mean Davos hasn't heard them either.

 

“I may not be a learned man and I may be an old man. But I'm no fool,”he crossed his arms. “The moment I looked upon her, I knew something was amiss.” he pauses. “But I don't blame you, she has a charm about her. ” he smiles.

 

Robb raises an eyebrow, looking at him in question, “What do you mean by…”.

 

“You said you want Dorne because you seek freedom there. I can only guess your lord father wanted you to marry a girl from some noble house but you feel in love with...her instead. Your family didn't  approve of her, because she's low born or something of the like.  So you ran away with her, refusing to take another, refusing to let her go,” he grins, “Is that it lad?”.

 

He feels a sense of relief at that.  At least he doesn't know the complete truth, although he almost hit the mark, almost, “Aye, you have the right of it,” he smiles sadly.

 

He laughs a little,“Love, tis the death of duty and honor,” he gathers the plates around them, standing up from the table, “Planky Town is only a moon away now, what do you plan to do when you get there?”.

 

 _‘Only a moon away,’_ he thinks. He can't help but feel excitement at the mere thought. “I suppose...live,” Ser Davos smiles at that.

 

“Yes, live.”.

  
  
  



	29. Chapter 29

Robb POV

 

He remembered the ‘ _SeaJoy_ ’ traversing through the Dornish Sea. Through red rock islands, miniature in size, that lay within it.  The drastic change in temperature had swept over him, and in a matter of weeks his skin took a more golden hue, he contributed it to his Tully genes.  It seemed to take forever before they actually made it to Planky Town, and with everyday they drew near the longer the day would continuously drag on.  Until they finally made it.  He could see the Red Mountains in the far distance, while the sand took on a reddish gold colour.  The watch towers and buildings were made of a variation of minerals, such as brimstone, limestone, and sandstone.  Some stood tall while others were short in stature, and despite how far he was from it, he could see the large fortress, Sunspear.  It would be the first time he's ever laid eyes upon it, being that the north didn't have much if any relation with the southernmost kingdom at all.

 

Lyarra walked beside him, making their way through the markets to the lot of brimstone homes Keynes told him about, once he had figured out who Lyarra _really_ was, or who he _thought_ she was to Robb. He followed the directions that he gave them, soon entering a path where the two story buildings aligned on both sides.  Vibrant colors of thin fabrics flowed in the air with the little breeze the Dornish weather could offer, line drying.

 

 _‘Gods but is it hot,’_ but he endured. He began to notice the common people's choice of clothing.  Cotton tunics and breeches, while some women wore more of a silky fabric in one piece skirts.  All of which were light colours that wouldn't attract to much heat from the sun.  He couldn't help but feel overdressed in his own clothing, but he would right that as soon as they got situated.

 

The houses were a peachy cream from the stone weathered by years of sand and wind.  The lot belongs to House Martell, according to Keynes, but with a landlord to look over it in their stead.  He had said that since it is still summer, most of the common folk who’d rent it out had left for the Reach where it'd be far more cooler.

 

The land _lady_ was an older woman, who’s probably seen more winters than Robb’s been alive. She had an air of kindness yet unrelenting authority.  Jeyne was her name, and she had looked upon them with soft brown eyes.

 

The brimstone house cost a quarter of the money he earned, and he thanked the gods that he still had most of his allowance.

 

It had the same creamy color of its counterparts, at least two stories high, with a small balcony. It wasn't large but it wasn't small either.  It was mediocre, he loved it all the same.  Home had been a blurry,unsure  thing since they left Winterfell.  Home couldn't be Winterfell anymore, home wasn't the ‘ _SeaJoy_ ’ for they knew there would be a time where they left that behind to.  He remembered walking down the gangplank, saying his goodbyes, he remembers Ser Davos and his kind words, assuring Robb that he'd always have a place there if he needed, “You only need to seek me at Dragonstone, that is where I'll be,” he had said.

 

But Robb had no desire to do so, although he appreciated the older man's offer. _This_ will be their home now, this little brimstone house, and he'd make it feel home.  They will both make it home, together.

 

He looks at Lyarra, her hair reaching her shoulder, a smile on her now golden face. A hand resting on her round stomach, it still leaves him awestruck, still takes his very breath away, to know that there is life growing in her. _A piece of him and a piece of her._ He grabs her free hand, soft compared to his calloused ones.

 

They walk inside.

  



	30. Chapter 30

Lyarra POV 

 

They lay in bed together, the faintest scent of rosewater in her hair, which was still soft and warm from the steamy bathhouses .  The window within their bedroom was slightly ajar, letting in some of the cold night air.  She laid naked and sweaty in his strong arms.  He'd constantly made love to her throughout the night, running his fingers through her hair and tracing every curve of her transitioning body.  She traced his body herself, he was far more toned than he was when they first left Winterfell, dark stubble appearing on his face and his hair returned to its natural red curls.  She ran her fingers through it while he slept.  She now realises that he’s never been so manly, so strong and perhaps it's because of the new responsibility he bears.  Yet he bears it well,with everything he's done for, with everything he continues to do for her. 

 

Gods she's never felt this much love for someone.  Moons ago she would've torn herself down for loving him,  _ her own brothe- _ ...but after everything they've been through she could care less about who they were to each other, only that they needed one another more than ever.

 

Especially as her belly grew bigger, and it's never been this  _ real _ , not even when she first learned of her pregnancy.  But now she can feel it moving inside of her, letting her know that it's really there, not just some thought.  She remembered when she first felt a kick, first felt her babe move, she had been shocked and everyday afterwards she felt.  She would lay Robb’s hand on her abdomen when she did, relishing in the wonder and awe in his eyes.  She snuggled closer to him, Lyarra loved it when he held her like this, “I love you,” she whispered to him, as she looked upon his sleeping face.

 

Lyarra didn't even realize she fell into slumber until she woke, the space next to her empty. She was used to that, with Robb leaving and working at the docks at the early peak of dawn. Morning light shined through the crack of the window, she winced at the contact it made with her face, as she slid from the bed.  Picking up the white cotton gown she often wore, she made her way out of the room down the stairway.

 

The first story is a spacious room with a few furniture, and next to it is a small kitchen with a stone hearth and tiny wooden table.  Dried fruit and bread sit atop of it, much how it did every morning she woke.  Sometimes she'd awaken half expecting to be in Winterfell or the ‘ _ SeaJoy _ ’, until she realizes she can't feel any northern chill or gentle rocking of waves.   _ Home _ , that is where she is, and sennight after sennight it becomes more familiar, more comfortable, and the word home doesn't seem so forced anymore.  She broke her fast on the food Robb left for her.

 

She would need to dress herself soon, for Keynes wife, Mellei, was stopping by.  She wished to show Lyarra around the local markets as well as the famous Water Gardens near Sunspear, where she is a servant to House Martell.

 

She was a Dornish woman through and through, with an easy smile and spirited personality, even in her pregnant condition. She often conversed about the difficulties of carrying child, warning her about the future cramps and backaches to come and how to deal with them in the future.

 

The hot sun beamed down upon her. She wears a loose fitted dress that is light blue, cooling her more easily.  A lace shawl is wrapped around her head and shoulders to repel the sun from her skin.  She walks with Mellei, who leads her through the Water Gardens.

 

There was a large pool in the center that had water flowing within it.  She could smell the oranges and lemons, and saw the palm trees looming above the maze of a garden.  Little children run amok, dipping their toes into the cool pool of water or grabbing a ripe blood orange.  The banner of House Martell hung proudly from the balconies and dais, a pierced red sun on a orange field.  The guards that walked among them adorned the same colours.  The garden held a tropical allure to it and she was enamoured.

 

A smile graced her face at the beauty of it all, Mellei looked at her, catching her smile, “It's beautiful isn't it? I remember when I was but a child and my mother and sister would take me here.  Mama would be working in the kitchens, while me and Wylla would pick fruits to eat.” She smiled as she reminisced. Resting a hand on her swollen belly, “Someday my child will do the same, along with its siblings,” she looked at Lyarra’s stomach, “And yours as well. How far along are you?”

 

“I'm nearing five moons now,” she fondly rests a hand upon her middle as well. Feeling it's movement, ‘ _ Soon _ ,’ she thought,  _ ‘Very soon,’. _

 

“Oh!” Mellei halted in her steps, face a mix of surprise and horror.  It would have been comical, if Lyarra hadn't realized the gravity of the situation.  A watery liquid trailed onto the sandstone ground, another wail of pain escaped the Dornish woman, nearly collapsing to the ground before Lyarra caught her form. Well, as much as she could in her condition.

 

She's never been in this predicament before, and can't help but feel a rush of panic, as she calls for help.

 

Oberyn POV

 

He enjoyed walking through the grounds of Sunspear, especially on days such as these. The wind was pleasant and cool, unlike the unbearable hot breeze it was only moons before, even by Dornish standards. The weather in Dorne was perfect during this time of the season, as summer transitioned into autumn that would soon turn to winter.  While the other six kingdoms would become cold and dreary, the southernmost kingdom would become pleasantly warm.

 

He could see little children running around, splashing in the pools of the water gardens. It brought about fond memories of his own childhood with his siblings.  Doran would always stand by and watch them, for he was always the type to watch and observe, never interfere.  He was going to be the Prince of Dorne, he didn't have time for childish games, that was always his reasoning to it.  But sometimes he could be swayed, but not for Oberyn.  _ Elia _ .  Elia was the only one who could bring him out of his stubbornness. Sweet little Elia, whose smile could light up a whole room, whose words were always kind and gentle. 

 

He closed his eyes, trying to remember it. Remember the way her voice sounded, remember her smile.  Sometimes he feared her very face was fading into memory, only fragments and small details being left behind. There is nothing left of her that he can go by, no daughters or son's he can look at and know that they were apart of her.  _ Now only her statue in the crypt remained. _ All he really had left was the fading image of her daughter, laughing and playing like a sweet summer child.

 

Gods, it did no good to think about that.  He needed to be strong, for Elia, for Dorne. 

 

He was immediately snapped out of his reverie from a painful scream, then a call for help. A  _ woman's _ scream. He broke off into a run, following the moans of pain, that led him to two women.  

 

The young girl with pale skin and dark hair looks to him pleadingly, “Please, help her!” she cradles the other woman in her arms. He goes to her, grabbing the Dornish woman's hand, squeezing it reassuringly. He couldn't just leave them there, what type of man would he be if he did?

 

Two guards run toward them, alerted by the screaming, “My prince-”

  
“Help me lift her,” one of the guards looks between him and the women, before springing into action. He goes to her side helping the prince lift her from the ground, off of the paler girl. Oberyn looks toward the other guard, “Prepare the nearest room, now!”  _ this is not what he'd anticipated for the day. _


	31. Chapter 31

Cat POV 

 

Catelyn didn't know what to do, but she knew what she wanted to do. For the past moons she's spent her days left in a daze. She had so many questions, so many things she wanted to say to him but wouldn't. She was far to ashamed and enraged at the same time.  Most of everything she would say would embarrassingly be unintelligible words said through endless amount of tears.  So she stayed away from him, gave him space for the Seven knew  _ she _ needed it.

 

Finally, the questions that plagued her mind for the past seven and ten years have been answered. A simple  _ who _ and  _ why.  _ She finally had a name to place to that anonymous woman that had haunted her through her daughter. It made her feel disgusted with herself when she did.  She ironically found herself missing being in the unknown, never knowing who and why, ignorant to the truth.  The truth that tastes so bitter and yet so sweet.  Sweet to know that her Ned never betrayed her, not truly.  But bitter to know that for all these years, she condemned a child for the sins of her  _ father _ , the sins that he never committed. Bitter to know that he didn't trust her enough to tell her,  _ for had she known...had she known she would have… _ No, it doesn't matter what could have been or should have been now. It's already been written, the ink is dry.  _  ‘The ink is dry in so many things, yet it's in our nature to try to smudge and smear it away.’. _

 

Still, that thought alone would forever haunt her.  _ ‘You couldn't love a motherless child,’ _ a sickly sweet voice would whisper  _ ‘You didn't have enough warmth in you to do so. You cold woman.’.  _  A child who truly had no one.  Both her parents were long gone, her house nothing but a name in the history scrolls.  The only family she really had left were her uncle and aunt, who lived in exile half a world away.  And she doesn't even know it, doesn't even know  _ who _ she is.  

 

_ A Targaryen _ , her son ran away with the daughter of a Targaryen.   _ Rhaegar Targaryen _ , the man who raped and kidnapped Lyanna Stark, the man who plunged the entire realm into war, caused the deaths of thousands. A child born from  _ tragedy _ , not  _ infidelity _ , that's who Lyarra Snow was. ‘ _ She's not my daughter _ ,’ he had said. If anyone knew, by the gods if Robert Baratheon knew… She remembered how anxious she was to see the king leave her home, leave her family, unconsciously biting her lower lip.  It all made her want to faint.

 

They had to talk about this, she can't hold it in anymore, can't continue to ignore him.

 

She walked through the gates of the godswood, knowing exactly where he’d be at times like this. Her boots crunched on dead leaves and twigs, sinking in the snow covered soil. It smelled of pine and earth. The nameless god appeared before her, with it's red leaves and grim pale face, sap dripping from its eyes that often looked like blood.  It made her feel uneasy, like it was reading her, judging, and it wasn't pleased with what it saw.  Underneath the Heart Tree sat her husband, head bowed in prayer.  She lost count of the many times she visited her Sept, lighting a candle for the Mother's mercy and praying for the Father's wisdom in hopes he will give some to her son in his journey to gods know where. She knows he does the same.

 

She waited for him, standing there with anticipation, running through all the things she could say, trying to settle on one. He raised his head in completion, standing up with a sigh before turning around to face her.  His face was weary and he looked as if he aged a decade with his greying beard. But he almost looked relieved to see her, after two moons of being separated. “Cat,”

 

“Ned,” she breathes in.

 

They stare at each other, his weary grey eyes meeting her anguished blue. “I think it's high time we...talk. About everything…” he nods his head in understanding.

 

“I promise I'll tell you everything, Cat.” He runs his fingers through his hair “If only you tell me where you wish to start.”.

 

She thought for a long while on that.  Finally, after so many years, she's getting answers, the truth.  But only after the cost of her son, after being blinded for so long it drove him away. Where could she start? “Why did you lie?”  _ Why didn't you trust me? _

 

He flinches a little, “I only wanted to protect you. I didn't want you to carry this burden,  _ this treason _ . But now..it doesn't matter much now does it?” _ ‘Now that they're gone,’  _ he smiles wryly.

 

_ ‘Treason? Why would it be treason? She's only a bastard girl,she wouldn't threaten any claim to the king's throne.’ _ Cat knew of Robert Baratheon’s deep rooted hatred for all things Targaryen,  _ the whole country knew.   _ That seems like the only reason why he would kill the girl,  _ but treason? _ Unless… “Who...who is she need? Who is she really? What really happened between…”  _ Lyanna and Rhaegar _ .  It wasn't unspoken of, some people had speculated, yet...Robert and Ned had been so sure. Brandon had been so sure.  _ Everyone had been so sure…  _ But what if they were wrong?  _ ‘Then it was all for nothing.  The blood that was shed, the dynasty that collapsed, all the grief and pain...it was all for nothing.’ _ she’s never felt so sick, so horrified as it all dawned on her _. ‘Please don't let this be so.’. _

 

She looks at him, seeking confirmation for her thoughts, hoping it is all denied.  He looks at her with so much sorrow, and she now understands  _ why.  _  Why he always looked upon that child with so much grief and sadness. Who he always saw when he looked at her, what she meant to him.  Two sets of ghosts haunting him, reminding him of all his mistakes, of everything he lost to that damned war.  Why he protected the child so fiercely, why he was so pained to see her go all those years ago.  _ She's not my daughter.  _ No she's Lyanna’s daughter, Rhaegar’s daughter. Their trueborn daughter, and if anyone found out, if Robert found out… his hatred for Targaryen’s knew no bounds.  It would extend to  _ her _ family,  _ her _ children.  Harboring a Targaryen right under the king's nose, even if they were unaware, if they never knew, he would kill them all.  He would put her babes to the sword and the king had no qualms with murdering children,  _ he proved that a long time ago.   _ And Robb, what would he do to Robb?  The king already had a great dislike for her son, almost bordering on hate.  She heard of the way he’d spoken of her son, so quick to name him a rapist, an abductor.  It was absurd  _ but he is the king. _ That is what she told Robb all those moons ago. He is the king, but Lyarra- _ was her name even really Lyarra?- _ was the rightful heir to the Iron Throne and now she understood the burden her Ned had carried for the past seven and ten years.  A burden far greater than the one she carried, how could she have been so selfish? _ ‘I didn't know, had I known…’ the ink is dry _ , she reminded herself.

 

She all but runs to him, throwing her arms around him. “I love you Ned. I love you so much.”  _ sometimes she doesn't deserve him, she knows, but he loves her anyway. _ “And I will carry this burden with you, for I am your wife and you are my husband.” His strong arms wrapped around her, and she tried to ignore the tears that ran down her cheek, ignored the tears that ran down his.


	32. Chapter 32

Oberyn POV

 

The pale girl had been restless as her friend screamed in pain, so powerful it is, it echoed throughout the hall.  They resided in the Guest Keep, forgetting all propriety to take the laboring woman to the servants quarters during a situation such as this. 

 

_ The pale girl. _ This is the name he’s labeled her under. Like the namesake that he bestowed upon her, she was just that, pale by Dornish standards. Her eyes were the strangest colour of grey and purple, and her curly hair short and dark.  Her accent was northern, not as in north of Dorne but north of the rest of the southern kingdoms.  He's heard it only a few times, from sailors and captains that ventured from White Harbor.  Yet where their accents were deep and had a rough edge to it, hers was soft and proper in a way.   _ Noble _ . She was a noble girl.  He’s curious as to how a noble northern girl found herself in Dorne. If there's anything he knows about northerners, it's that they rarely leave that cold barren land, the gods only know why.

 

Perhaps she seeks some warmth in her cold life.  Or perhaps she's running away from something, so desperate to leave it behind, she'd run this far south to escape it.  _ ‘What's with these northerners and running away from their problems? And why must they always run to Dorne?’.  _

 

The groans of pain quiet down behind the door, and the wails of a newborn replace it. Oberyn loved the sound, it reminded him much of the times his children first came into the world. The pale girl's worried eyes brightened, immediately opening the door.  Her friend laid there in the center of the bed. Her brow sweaty and hair mused, he could tell she was fatigued, yet she still looked elated as she held her babe. The pale girl goes to her side looking down at the babe in her friend's arms, she stares at it in awe “He's beautiful, Mellei,” gently running a finger on the newborn's cheek. “Will you wait for Keynes to name him?,” Mellei nods her head, entranced by her child.  _  ‘What mother wouldn't be? It's a powerful thing to know you gave life, to know that someone came from you.  Motherhood is powerful, but most men undermine it.’  _ It had made Elia fierce, even in her last moments.  They say she fought to protect her babes, the little her fragile body could, and the Mountain killed her for her trouble.  He shakes his head, refusing to let his mood darken, not at a moment like this.

 

For the first time since he's met her, the pale girl smiles. He feels himself tense at it, at the smile he thought was faded into memory. He tries to reason with himself that he’s only seeing things, that it's the deeply rooted longing for anything left of his sister.  For how could some northern girls smile look so familiar to that of Rhaenys? Elia’s little Rhaenys, whom when she smiled her coloring was all forgotten because you knew she was Rhaegar's. That smile could have only belonged to him, and it belonged to her. 

 

He looks at her,  _ really _ looks her, trying to see anything else, to convince himself he’s not going mad.  He looks at her eyes, those almond shaped eyes, her nose that was sharp, her pouty lips. She's prettier than any northern girl has right to be.  He looks at her eyes, seeing the lavender specks mixed in with grey again.  _ Noble girl from the north _ . Didn't he hear something about a girl disappearing from the north?  _ Northern girl.  _ Was this her?  _ ‘The pale girl. Which house was it… Pale skin and dark hair.  Stark. House Stark.’ _  The bastard daughter of the  _ all so noble Eddard Stark _ .  Rumored to have fathered her on Ashara Dayne of Starfall.  He sees how people would assume that, with her... _ valyrian features _ . Perhaps that's it, House Dayne has the blood of Valyria as well as the blood of the First men.  Mayhaps that's it.

 

He comforts himself with that thought until another arises,  _ ‘What am I to do with her?’. _ The responsible thing would be to send her back to where she came from but... _ clearly _ that is not where she wishes to be.  Who is he to deny someone else's freedom? Especially from a cold desolate land like the North. And when has he ever been that responsible? Never, if you let Doran tell it.

 

“Would you like to hold him, Lyan?” 

 

“Aye, I would love to,” she gathers the bundle from the Dornish woman's arms, putting the babe into her own, “He's so small.” adoration in her voice, as she coo’s over him.  That smile forever taunting him,  _ and she doesn't even know _ it.

 

“Congratulations, Mellei,” he smiles at her, and she returns it.  With a nod of his head, he turns, leaving the room.

 

He's down the hall, ready to turn the corner when he hears an awkward “My...Prince,”.  ‘ _ She's not used to calling on a Prince, it must sound strange coming out her mouth.’ _ He turns around to see the pale girl, Lyan, walking his way.  She stops in front of him, before doing a weak curtsy, he then notices the roundness of her stomach when she does so. Her fingers runs over her abdomen nervously, “I wanted to thank you. For the kindness you shew my friend and I.” she smiles at him, and he could almost picture Rhaenys again.

 

He smiles back, “What type of man would I be if I didn't?” the silence was awkward after that, and he didn't know why.  This has never happened to him before,  _ ‘ It's that damned smile’. _  The smile he was beginning to  grow fond of, only because it looked like  _ hers _ , little Rhaenys. He wants to see it again, “Do you plan on coming again?”.

 

She seemed taken aback by the question, “I...Yes, I do wish to visit the Water Gardens again, my...Prince,” she does a slight bow, before walking back to the room where her friend resided.

 

He watches her retreating form, wondering if he really will see her again, see that smile.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	33. Chapter 33

She runs her fingers through the flour, sprinkling it on the dough, then gathering water in her hands and sprinkling that on as well.  She did this every day, with Mellei by her side, after they returned from the kitchens of Sunspear.

 

The kitchens in Dorne were far hotter than those in the north.  For in the north, the extra warmth is embraced, but in Dorne it is unpleasant.  Although as weeks pass the weather becomes more cooler in it's transition to Autumn.  She thanks the gods for that. 

 

Mellei places the dough in the hearth after sprinkling cinnamon on top, brushing off her hands on her apron.  Her once round belly was now flat, while Lyarra’s was completely  swollen.  When she thought she couldn't get any bigger, she did.  The aches that Mellei warned her of have become a constant and her breast swelled.  It was strange, how something so small inside of you could cause this much change.  She had had to adjust her dresses weeks prior to accomodate with her new size.  _ ‘Only a few more months,’ _ she thought with anticipation.  The kicks have become stronger, a sign of the babes growth, as well as her appetite. _ ‘It can't possibly be me,’ _ Lyarra has never been a heavy eater, but Mellei warned her of that as well.  Her babe was two moons now, with copper skin and a mound of dark curls atop his head.  He had his mother's soft hazel eyes, but Lyarra knew everything else was of Keynes.  She hopes her child is everything like Robb.

 

Mellei claims her sister, Wylla plans to visit and see her newborn nephew.  She travels from Starfall, the seat of House Dayne.  Lyarra could tell Mellei put her sister in high regard, often speaking of her with fondness and respect, reminiscing on the times of childhood. It often made her think of Arya. She spoke of her wise words, her long dark hair, and eyes that were old even in youth.  

 

So they sliced fruit they gathered from the Water Gardens, blood oranges and peaches, Wylla’s favorite.  They often walked through there after working, Mellei carrying Yaron, pointing out different things that he has yet to understand, but she does it anyway.  

 

Sometimes Lyarra would take Robb with her, on his days off, showing him how her friend showed her.  He always looked content, always smiling down at her, rubbing her lower back.  He'd kiss her on her forehead, fingers pushing her dark curls behind her ear.  Then more often than not the prince would accompany her, whether she wanted his presence or not.  They’d walk in blissful silence, side by side, and she didn't know why he bothered. Though sometimes she would catch him staring at her, studying her face,  _ especially _ when she smiled.  It was odd.  Almost as if he was searching for something, his eyes would grow sad even though he always smiled back.  What did he see in her? What did he wish to find?  Why did he look upon her in sadness?  It reminded her so much of father, for he'd do the same.  Robert Baratheon did the same as well, but for a different reason.  Still, what did everyone wish to find in her? Why did their eyes always seek?  What ghost were they trying to find this time?

 

Lyarra finishes up, Mellei placing the fresh dough in the ovens. 

  
  


Wylla  POV

 

It has been years since she's seen Sunspear, the magnificence of it always stole her breath away, even from a great distance.  The breeze was far cooler on this side of Dorne, with the sea near by, and she couldn't wait to venture in the Water Gardens.  But most of all, she couldn't wait to see her little sisters babe and her sister for that matter.  Yaron was his name, and Mellei had wrote that he had her hazel eyes.  Mellei’s eyes have always been bright, she had there mother's eyes, were Wylla had her father's dark brown.

 

She walked through the town, her home town, that she hasn't seen in nearly a decade.  Not since she left for Starfall, with her lover, who is long gone now.  The memory of him still left a dull ache.  The babe that he had gave her before he left and never lived to see.  The babe didn't live either, she remembers how still it was in her arms, no bigger than her palm. She had many memories filled with pain and tragedy, some weren't even her own.  Wylla has led a life of many misfortunes, yet she is happy, that her sister has better.   One of them ought to.

 

The little brimstone house comes into view, ‘ _ Mama's house’ _ , she thinks, but she knows it's Mellei’s now.  She has started a new family of her own, to bring about new memories and fondness.  _  ‘It hasn't been mama's house for a long time now.’. _  She knocks and the door opens to reveal her sister who isn't so little anymore.  Not that little girl who made it hell when it was time to bathe or learn her sums with the rest of the children in the local sept. Now, she looks at a woman and she looked so much like their mother.  She embraces her, holding her tight, and she smells of oranges and cinnamon and she knows why. She holds her tighter. 

 

The house is far warmer than it should be, but it's slowly cooling with the opened window.  They walk into the back of the house, down the hall to where her and Mellei’s room used to be.  The babe is in there, sound asleep in his wooden crib, “Keynes made it himself.  He was always good with his hands,” she walks to the crib picking up the sleeping babe.

 

“Wait, he's sleeping…” her voice trails off when she places the babe in her arms anyway.  He was so soft and warm, a tiny little thing.  He was completely undisturbed, it made her chuckle “A deep sleeper, this one.”. She gives him back to his mother.

 

They leave the room, once the babe was placed back into the crib. She hears noises in the kitchen and pauses in her steps, “Is Keynes here?” Mellei shakes her head, leading her into the kitchen.

 

“I have a friend I'd like you to meet,”  _ a friend? _

 

Her heart nearly stops when she sees the girl, with that pale skin and dark curly hair.  When she smiled at her, Wylla knew that smile, that shy smile.  She had buried it in her memory, tried to make it dwindle away, make the truth dwindle away in a new rule that would see the little girl dead for it. 

 

Her eyes sparkled with grey and lavender, and her belly was round and full.  It brought about memories of all those months in that tower, when she cared for the  _ Princess Lyanna, _ who she found a friend in as time went on. Remembered when the she-wolf and the silver dragon both faded into nothing, leaving only a babe behind.  The babe that she fed at her breast when her mother wasn't alive to do so herself.  She loved her and cared for her, as if she were her own, how she would have done her own had he lived.  She had travelled half the country over, to the cold lands of the north, just for that babe.  Then she left, when she was no longer needed, leaving a piece of herself behind.  Another misfortune, another tragedy.  

 

The would be Queen, the only thing that remains of the last dragon. Visenya Targaryen, without her true father or mother, left to be raised as a bastard girl by that solemn young man and his wife, who stared at the little babe with so much coldness.

 

It wasn't fair, it wasn't right, but seldom do people get what they deserve.  Wylla learned that a long time ago.

 

They sat on soft cushions, eating cinnamon bread and blood oranges, but Wylla’s eyes couldn't stop traveling to...Lyan. She knew it a mummer's farce from the start.  She remembers the Lord Ned Stark calling the girl Lyarra, and the name had stuck.   _ ‘Why is she here? Did she run away? Why?...Does she know?  She deserves to know, if she doesn't,’ _ she knew the odds of the solemn lord telling his niece the truth were slim to none, but she had hoped… ‘ _ Then again, he has been her one and only father, her only parent, for the past seven and ten years. If he didn't, it was because he didn't want to let her go. Perhaps that's it. Yet, she still deserves to know the truth.’  _ These thoughts kept nagging at her brain, never going away. “Wylla, are you alright?” 

 

She shakes her head, “I'm sorry, I was in deep thought.” she eyes Lyarra’s round belly again. “How far along are you?” if the girl finds it strange that she ask, she doesn't show it.

 

“Seven moons now,” she smooths the fabric of her dress above her stomach.

 

“Can I…” her voice trails, _ ‘I probably shouldn't’, _ she'd find that even more strange. But again, she doesn't give any indication that she thinks so.  Her pale hand gently grabs hers, placing it on her abdomen.  It brought her back to a time, when she did the same with another dark haired girl, felt this girl kick in Lyanna’s stomach, knowing she was there before she even came to be. _ ‘Who's the father?’, _ she wondered. _  ‘Perhaps this babe doesn't have one, maybe that's why she ran away. She was ashamed of herself.’. _ She's probably felt much shame that could last her a lifetime, for the world isn't kind to women and bastard alike, perhaps this was one more shame she couldn't bare. 

 

The twisting of the door knob takes her out of musing, gathering everyone's attention. Lyarra and Mellei look at each other with knowing looks, smiles adorning their faces. They rise off the cushioned furniture as two man enter. Keynes, she's never known what to think of the man, never understood what Mellei saw in him, but mama was much the same when she fell for her Jonath.   _ ‘As long as he cares for her and loves her, I'm content.’ _ she reassured herself, glancing at the man who now holds Lyarra’s attention, speaking to her in a way they can only hear. The way they look at each other is no different from how Keynes and Mellei look at each other.  _ ‘This must be the father,’ _ she knows it's true when she looks at his blue eye's.  Those blue eyes that are also very familiar.  _ ‘No, now I'm procrastinating.’ _

 

Wylla knows that she can only stay a sennight, knows she can't stay long, she has to go back to... _ What does she have to go back to? _  She stares at the babe in Mellei’s arms and the one growing inside Lyarra.  _ When all she needs is right here? _


	34. Chapter 34

Things are strange now.  They aren't how they used to be.  Both his brother and sister have been missing for months. And now that his older brother Robb is gone, Bran is the heir, until his brother returns. _If_ his brother returns. The thought of never seeing Robb or Lyarra again saddened him.

 

He didn't like this, this preparing to be a future lord.  His father has always gave him lessons in the task, he wanted all of his children to be prepared if worst came to worst, but now it was different.  There was more pressure, more weight to it, that wasn't there before.  People are depending on him to do this, because they _know_ Robb isn't coming back.

 

He along with his siblings aren't allowed to bring it up.  Not around father, Maester Luwin, Ser Rodrik and especially not his mother.  It's like some taboo topic, something highly inappropriate for children such as himself to bring up.  He doesn't know how many times the Septa popped Arya’s knuckles or mother chastised him for trying to bring it up the first few weeks around.  So they are refrained from mentioning their siblings strange disappearance.

 

The adults didn't want to hear it, they simply didn't like to, didn't want the children to even speak or think of it either but that didn't stop the guards or servants girls from whispering about.  Didn't stop Bran from hearing those whispers either.  Strange and disturbing things he didn't like to hear, that often left him in tears when he thought on them too hard. Such vile things they are.  Once father had caught him crying in a corner, fist balled and face red in anger.  Bran wasn't one to get angry, that was Arya and Rickon, but never Bran. He was the calm one, the even-tempered child who thought things through. Father had been surprised, immediately asking why Bran was distressed, although he had a feeling his father knew why, making Bran reluctantly tell him reluctantly of the things that were said out of his earshot.

 

Bran never heard those whispers again or saw the maids and guards who whispered them. But it didn't erase their words from his mind, and he thinks on them every day, when he knows he shouldn't.

 

Arya is little better, though she tries to take everything in stride and seem unbothered by it all.  He knows that it's a front, that his sister is hurting, he can see the redness of her eyes and wet cheeks when no one else can.  He remembers how heart broken she was to learn that Lyarra was gone, the only sibling, the only _sister_ she ever bonded with. The only one who could understand being _different_.  She had said as much in her fit of tears and yelling, that left their mother looking helpless and heartbroken.

 

When it happened, their parents didn't have to tell them directly that Lya and Robb were gone, they figured it out themselves.  Which is a good thing, he doesn't think his father or mother would have been able to.  Bran first noticed from the alarm and intensity that seemed to overwhelm everyone, yet all were silent.  There were no more smiles or cheer from the night before.  There would only be a light murmur in the yard, before the guards left to leave and search, taking the silent chatter with them.  Winterfell itself had seemed to be empty, with two additions missing.  With Lyarra and Robb missing.

 

Then he remembers what happened in the Great Hall, how sad and defeated his father had been, how angry and furious he was at the king.  Bran had slipped in, as quiet and quick as a mouse, hiding in a dark corner, watching them go back and forth.

 

He wishes he can do the same now, with all these grim and hard lords surrounding him and his parents.  But he could hide no longer, hide under the shadow of being the second son. This was his future, this hall and these lords within it, unless Robb returns. ‘ _When Robb returns_ .’ he thought.  He has to keep telling himself that, it's the only thing that gives him strength and courage under these hard stares, that study and scrutinize him, trying to find any flaw or crack that they may have missed in his brother. _A man who took off with his own sister,_ they didn't say it, but he could see it in their eyes.  He wonders if father can too, but Bran wouldn't know or anyone else for that matter.  For his father's face was as cold and hard as the Stark lords beneath the crypt. His Lord's face.

 

Finally, after many moons, his father has called an assembly, to discuss current matters with the Lord's of the North. To discuss Robb and his actions.  There was the Umbers, and from what he can tell, Lord GreatJon Umber along with his son SmallJon.  Rickard Karstark of House Karstark and his sons, the tall women of Bear Island, and Lord Bolton, with his deathly pale skin and cold calculating eyes.  Whenever the leech lord's eyes landed on Bran, he felt a shiver crawl down his spine.  The man made him feel uneasy.  On and on the list went of his father's bannermen, even the bannerman who belonged to his bannerman came.

 

Bran sat to his father's right, while his mother sat to his left, all eyes and ears on them. “My lords,” his father begins, looking to the Lady of Bear Island.  His voice is low, yet hush falls over the room when they hear it.  That made him feel better, to know that they respect his father, respect what he has to say despite Robb’s mistakes. “My ladies, I thank you for coming at such short notice.  Yet, as you know, there are matters we need to discuss.” He can feel butterflies in his stomach, from seeing how tense they've all become.  Bran has been dreading this for weeks, every since he learned of his father's intentions. ‘ _Why_ ,’ he had asked the gods, ‘ _do I  have to be there to see it?’_ See the arguments and debates to come, _‘Because you are the heir now.  Robb isn't here anymore, and now it falls to you to play the part.’_ . To be mature and rise to the task, to attend extra lessons, every execution, every court session and every meeting whether it be with the Maester or kitchen staff or the Lords of the North themselves.  Perhaps this is why Robb ran away, Bran definitely wanted to. _‘But why did he have to take Lya with him?’._

 

“We have been waiting for this meeting for moons Lord Stark, waiting for an explanation as to what took place with…” Maege Mormonts voice trails off.  Lyarra always described her as a loud and confident woman, who made her voice heard and respected.  Yet even this topic of discussion made her at lost for words, not knowing where to begin or how to _say it._ To point out the elephant in the room. “I came in all haste.” But Bran thanks her mentally, for getting straight to the point without all the false pleasantries and minor talk that would leave the hall more awkward than tense. _‘We all know why they are here, why father called them.’._

 

“Yes,” Roose Bolton makes his voice heard after, “I'm curious about that as well.  The disappearance of your son and heir along with your bastard daughter.  Such an _odd_ , _peculiar_ thing that is, for House Stark. We know how much you uphold your _honor_ …”

 

“I hold my honor to the highest regard,” his father responds, brow furrowing in disdain.

 

“Then it's a shame your son doesn't do the same,” his voice is calm and cold. “Though we can't say much for your bastard girl-”

 

“My lord, I advise you to hold your tongue in regards to my family,” _lest you wish to lose it,_ is left unsaid, but the Lord Bolton hears it all the same.

 

“How are we to respect our future warden, a man who eloped with his own sister, who ran away from his duty? I mean you know offense, Lord Stark.  I hold you to the highest regard, I respect you as I once did your father but your son… he is a different matter entirely.” lord Karstark chimes in. _Our future warden_ , they speak of him as if Bran isn't sitting right there. As if Robb might pop up at any moment. He hopes they are right.

 

It's silent for a moment, before his father speaks again, “This isn't about Robb.” confusion engulfs the hall, including Bran.  The only ones who look calm is his father and mother, as if they prepared themselves for this. “This is about Lyarra. My daughter Lyarra Snow, no-” he cuts himself off.   _No? No what?_ “ _My niece, Lyarra Stark.”_ he finally says, but it doesn't erase the bewilderment he feels. _‘Niece? Lyarra is father's niece? Surely he lies? Father has never told a lie before._ But he has, he made the world believe he had a bastard daughter _.  ‘Do Robb and Lyarra know? Is that why they ran away?’_ “The daughter of Ashara Dayne and my brother, Brandon Stark.” Bran can't stop his mouth from falling open.

 

In minutes alone, father is overwhelmed with questions.  When, where and how?  It made his head hurt to hear them all at once. Father holds up his hand to silence them all, “They fell in love at the tourney of Harrenhal, and married not long after in secret,” he looks at his mother, who's still as a statue, never letting her emotions show or her face break at the shocked looks thrown her way.  Everyone knows his late uncle Brandon was promised to mother first. “Before the rebellion, Brandon planned to call off his betrothal but… a change in events happened preventing him to do so.  During the end of the war, I went to Starfall, to return Dawn to Lady Ashara, and in the process I discovered my niece, _Lyarra Stark_ .  She was a sickly babe, smaller than she should have been. The maester was convinced she wouldn't survive. Ashara… she wasn't in the right state of mind. She was broken.  All in one year she lost her friends, her husband, her brother and now she would lose her daughter as well.  So, I took the babe for my own, she had insisted upon it, she wanted her child buried in Winterfell, _as a Stark_ , where she belonged.  But Lyarra survived long after Ashara...took her own life.  This is the truth of it, the truth that I hid and the truth they found out. My son and _niece_. And now they are gone because of it.” He can hear the guilt in his father's voice.

 

The explanation leaves no room for questions yet they ask anyway, but father responds, having an answer to each and everyone of them.

 

It...made sense.  Why he kept it a secret for so long, hid the truth from all of them, including Lyarra.  It would have caused her so much sadness, to know her mother gave up on life, gave up on her. To know the man she believed was her father, was in truth her uncle and her real father was long gone.  Perhaps when she learned the truth, Robb comforted her, and then they ran away together.  It's the truth and now all of the north knows.


	35. Chapter 35

Robb POV 

 

He watched her rest, belly swollen and full, laying on her side. His fingers traced over the elaborate designs she made on the small blanket for their child to come.  It was made from cotton and lace, with little wolves dancing under the constellation of stars that formed the Ice Dragon.  It had blue and grey and white to form these designs and patterns.  It reminded him of home, and he wondered if that was the feeling she wished to convey.  _ Home _ .  He couldn't deny that the north was his home, it was in his blood, it was who he was, it was who she was.  He can't deny that he misses it, cannot deny his feelings of longing for it, despite the life he's made here in Dorne.  He knows she misses it to.  But they can't go back, even if they wanted to.  

 

It was beautiful and soft, he could tell thought and love was put into it, everything their child deserved.  It was strange considering the woman Wylla also had a hand in it, Lyarra had admitted so.  She helped with making the dragon, and fixed the minor mistakes she made.

 

He didn't know what to think of the woman.  She was strange in a good way he supposed, with a gentle wit and thoughtful voice, but seldom did she speak.  Only stare, her gaze always fixed on Lyarra, sometimes it would shift to him, studying him in a way that made him feel unease.  He half expects she knows who they are, or at least knows that they're not who they are portraying to be.  Her eyes are always filled with silent question, and he doesn't know if he answers correctly, doesn't even know how to answer.  

 

She knows more than she lets on, thats for sure. He can tell from the knowing looks she sends their way, when she thinks he isn't paying attention, a sadness lingering in her eyes when he meets them. 

 

He looks at the unfinished work laid out on the chair next to him.  A cloak, a wedding cloak, with the typical Stark colors of white and gray. Although the grey Direwolf is missing, they both know what the color represents. Soon their child will come into this world, soon they will be wed, soon Lyarra will be his wife.  The thought made him flutter inside.  ‘ _ Wife, she will be my wife.’. _

 

He rises from his seat, placing a kiss upon her forehead, brushing some strands of hair behind her ear. 

 

Today was one of his days off, where he usually walked to the Water Gardens with Lyarra.  The garden has yet to stir with people, it was more quiet than usual, and he found himself missing the bustle of sounds. “Hello,” he turns around to see a figure dressed in orange garb, leaning against the sandstone wall, with an amused quirk of his lips.  Oberyn Martell, the Red Viper.  Lyarra had told him of the Prince as well, how he always walked and talked with her.  The man made him wary, but she seemed to like him, for some strange reason.  Robb couldn't see the appeal.

 

“Prince Oberyn,” he nods his head at the Dornish man, before continuing on his way.

 

“Stark,” he returns in kind.  Robb halted in his steps, heart stopping for a moment. “Robb Stark.” it's barely above a whisper, but he hears it all the same in the empty garden.  He doesn't hear the man walk next to him though, his footsteps are to soft and graceful to hear.  Like a snake, a viper.  He lives up to his namesake. “It seems I've gotten your attention,” he says with a sly smile, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. “How about we go for a walk together? Lya seems to like them very much,”  Robb tries not to bristle at him using her nickname.

 

It's still silent, dawn finally on the horizon, as they walk through the gardens.  Robb wants no more than to leave, but it seems this man has him trapped.  This man who knows the truth, probably has for a while now.  _ ‘And he has yet to send word to my father,’ _ that thought gave Robb some comfort and the Prince seemed to sense it. “Tell me about her,” he finally says, it throughs Robb off.  Tell him about her? “Lyarra, what is she like?” The feeling of unease claws at him again.

 

“Don't you talk to her?” He tried to keep the annoyance out of his tone, tried but failed and the Vipers grin only seemed to widen. As if he enjoys putting people in uncomfortable positions, asking them questions that they rather not answer. He didn't like this, whatever  _ this _ was _. ‘Why do you care?’ _ is what he really wants to say,  _ ‘Is it any of your business?,’ _ is another.

 

He shrugs his shoulders, “Don't you sleep with her?” he shakes the Dornish man's arm off, who throws back his head in laughter at the look Robb gives him.  He's about ready to escape this man's presence. “What? I do not judge, you can't help who you love. Neither can you help who you hop into bed with,”

 

“Goodbye.”  Robb doesn't care about being courteous anymore.  He will not play any of this man's games. 

 

“I was only curious.  The girl rarely speaks, and when she does it is little of herself.”

 

“Why do you want to know?” he finally voices his thoughts out loud.  Something like sadness glimmers in his eyes, before quickly passing.

 

“She reminds me of someone I used to know is all.  I only wanted to know if my  _ suspicions _ were correct.” his smile returns “You know, for a man who ran away with his own  _ cousin _ , you're very much a prude.  That makes you and her both.” that makes Robb pause.  Cousin?  This man must be mistaken, perhaps he doesn't know everything.  But that wouldn't make any sense, his uncle Brandon and aunt Lyanna never lived to have children. Only uncle Benjen remained, and he swore an oath to celibacy.   Everyone knows this, this man must have lost his wits.

 

A look of sudden realization crossed Oberyn’s face at Robb’s confusion, “Oh, you haven't heard?” he continues before Robb can respond, “Well, according to your Lord Father, your sister, well… your sister isn't  _ really _ your sister.” Robb doesn't know what to say to that, can't begin to comprehend.  Surely this man is lying, father wouldn't... “She's your cousin, apparently, the daughter of Ashara Dayne and Brandon Stark.  Those were his words, though I don't know how much weight to hold to them,” he says the last part more to himself than Robb, but he could care less.

 

He doesn't know whether to be relieved or angry.  _ ‘It was a lie, father lied, he’s never lied. Until he did.’ _  It suddenly hits him that his relationship with Lyarra is even a lie.  They aren't siblings or forbidden lovers.  What they feel for each other isn't wrong, it never was  and his father wouldn't have said anything, would have never told them the truth had they stayed. “This is for certain?” he tries to keep his voice strong, despite its weakening.

 

“Yes, I believe it is.  His word traveled like wildfire,” his smile weakens at Robb’s silence, “You should be happy.  You wish to marry her don't you? Well, now you can and the gods won't fault you for it. I know how you Starks are about the whole honor thing, you're not planning on leaving her with a bastard.” but Robb ignores it all.

 

“Don't tell her,” he meets the Prince's questioning eyes, “She can't know, not now. It would crush her, especially now, with the baby so close...  She wouldn't be able to handle it, it would kill her. Please,” he doesn't want to see Lyarra broken, not when she's so happy, so at peace with herself. “I will tell her myself, after everything else.”.

 

“I'm sure that's what you're father said as well.”.

 

He walks away from the Prince, but not without a last word, “It's a good thing I'm  _ not _ my father,” he leaves the gardens.

 

Guilt is all he feels while watching her. It was always nagging at him when she smiled and held his hand.  He doesn't deserve this, not when he knows the truth but refuses to tell it.  He tells himself that it's for her own good, that he's protecting her, but it feels wrong to keep something like this hidden.  All her life Lyarra’s wanted to know who her mother was, and he learns of the woman before she does.

 

But it would hurt her, the truth would break her heart.  To know that father's lied, to know that father wasn't really her father.  He couldn't do that to her, wouldn't do that her.  At least not now, not when she's so happy. 

 

“Something troubling you?” she rest a hand on his, worry in her eyes.  He shakes his head forcing a smile, but when she smiles back he doesn't have to.

 

“No.  Are you alright?” he feels around her stomach, rubbing it gently.

 

“I'm fine, just some cramps,” she stares at him for a moment, before closing her eyes with a sigh, “If there's something bothering you, you can tell me.  You can tell me anything,”.

 

A knock on the door halts his response. He looks at Lyarra in question, “You're expecting someone?” 

 

She smiles gently, “It must be Wylla, she's bent on helping me with the cloak.” the change in mood and conversation eases him slightly.  Anything to get her mind off of the problems that plague his mind.

 

He goes to open the door, revealing those dark eyes and calm face, “Edric,” she nods her head in greeting.

 

“Wylla,” he moves for her to enter, closing the door after. “Well,I'll leave you two to it.” with that, he leaves up stares into the bedroom.

 

Lyarra POV 

 

Hours passed and they were nearly finished with the cloak, all she needed was a few more pieces of fabric and it would be completed.  The design turned out beautifully with Wylla’s help and she thanks the gods for the woman, for she couldn't do it on her own.  Lyarra wasn't bad with needle, but she's never been particularly good at the task either. 

 

She rested back in the cushioned seat, relishing in the breeze from the opened window.  She could feel the woman's gaze on her, though she was getting used to that. Used to people finding some remnant of those they once knew and loved, although it was strange considering she just met the woman, who could she possibly look like to her?  It was most likely personality wise,  _ ‘Perhaps she knew someone who was just like me,’ _ she thought.

 

“You're just like your mother,” her head snaps to the woman next to her, eyes wide.  She seems to realize what she said as well, taken aback by her own words.  It was so unlike her calm and composed self, who always thought before she spoke.  Lyarra didn't know whether to be shocked or angry. She abruptly stands up, face paler than usual, “I'm sorry, that was...so unlike me,” she giggles a little, but Lyarra doesn't find the humor in the situation.  She gathers her things, ready to leave but Lyarra goes after her, faster than she expected herself to be at this point.

 

She takes hold of her hand, “Wait!” she halts in her steps, staring at her apologetically, “You knew my mother?”

 

She shakes her head, “Now is not the time, Lya.” She tries to loosen her grip, but Lyarra holds tighter, holds onto the only person who can help her place a name to the woman she's wanted to know her whole life.

 

“Please, can you at least give me her name?” she hates sounding this helpless.

 

Wylla stares at her in silence before speaking again, “She loved you,from the moment she held you in her arms.” she smiles sadly, releasing her hand from Lyarra’s weakened grip. “I'll tell you, when the time is right, I promise.”.


	36. Chapter 36

Lyarra POV 

 

She sat in the chair, sad and defeated, trying hard to keep the tears at bay.  She had been so close to knowing, so close to the truth, before having it snatched away.  Why do people do this? Why is it so hard to tell the truth?  What is the harm in a simple name?

 

“Lyarra,” she felt Robb press his hand to her back, rubbing it soothingly. “Are you okay?”

 

“No, I'm not.” she didn't mean for it to come out so curt,  but he drew his hand back anyway, flinching at her word's. “I'm sorry. I'm just…” words fail her as tears fall out. He kneels in front of her, gripping her hand.

 

“Tell me, I will listen.” of course he would, Robb would always listen.

 

“It's about my mother,” she doesn't miss the way he swallows, “Wylla knows who she is. But she won't tell me…” she can see him pale, can feel his palm sweat.  Why is he so nervous? “Do you know something that I don't know?” she can feel her ire rising.

 

Silence is the only response she gets, the only response she needs. Instead of shaking his hand away out of anger, she gripped it tighter in desperation. “You know? You know who she is?”

 

He’s hesitant at first, then sighing in defeat after, “Ashara Dayne. Her name is Ashara Dayne.” the name makes her pause, before realization sinks in. Wylla is a loyal servant of Starfall, has been for many years, she more than likely served her when she still lived.  ‘ _ You're just like your mother _ ,’ she had said.  That's who she sees when she looks at me.  Am I really that much like her? “And you're father is Brandon Stark.”  the silence that comes after is deafening.

 

“What?” she couldn't have heard him correctly, perhaps he jest, although now is an inappropriate time to do so.

 

“Father...isn't your father.” is all he can say back, and she resist the urge to slap him.  Instead, this time she does snatch her hand out of his.

 

“You knew this whole time, and you weren't going to tell me.” It's more of a statement than a question, voice quivering slightly from hurt.  Father isn't your father.   _ Father isn't my father. _

 

She rises from the seat, walking away from it, walking away from him. She goes to the window, embracing the cool air.  It was suddenly hot, she could feel beads of sweat forming on her brow, her breath quickening.  Lyarra has never been this angry, to the point where she was fuming hot.

 

“Lya, are you-”

 

“I'm fine dammit!” she turns to face him, angry and sad and happy all at once.  All she ever wanted was her name and now she has it. “I-” she stops at the feel of it. Of a warm wet substance slithering down her legs.  She freezes at the sight of it dampening her gown, and her mind goes blank.  

 

“Lyarra!” he tries to get her attention, but she's vaguely aware of him calling her name, all she can focus on is what's happening to her body.

 

All she knows is pain, and the cramping she felt earlier comes back with a vengeance. She closes her eyes, trying but failing to hold in her screams, trying to breathe.  The feel of his strong hands quickly guiding her to the bed comforts her, but only slightly.  The covers only make her feel hotter, and this time she doesn't hold back her screams, eyes remaining closed.  That is all she remembers before blacking out completely.

 

When she wakes it's to familiar voices, perhaps Mellei or Wylla, maybe both, though her vision is to blurry to be certain. The pain comes rushing back, making her want to faint again, but a soft familiar hand grips her own, “You must stay awake, Lyarra,” a cold damp cloth runs over her head and cheeks, “For the baby, you must stay awake.” she can feel someone gently spreading her legs, lifting up her cotton dress, but she's reluctant to let them do so. “Please, Lyarra.  You must.” the voice is commanding, stern yet gentle. Wylla, it must be Wylla, and she can make out her dark eyes and long black hair through the blur.  She spreads her legs, the smell of blood never eluding her. She can feel it's stickiness caked on her thighs. “Now, I need you to push.  Can you do that for me?”

 

Lyarra shakes her head in refusal, fear building up inside.  More hot tears trail down her face, “I can't.” is all she can think to say, her voice coming out raspy and dry.

 

“Try, just try.  It's the only way.”.

 

She does, and she's never felt pain like this. It felt as if someone was ripping her apart.  ‘ _ Someone is ripping me apart.’. _ She wants to laugh, but instead she screams for Robb.  She doesn't have anyone else to call.  Not a mother or a father, just Robb. She needs him so badly, so she calls out again, and it helps her push harder, her back rising slightly off the bed before falling exhaustingly into the pillows.

 

“Good, that's good,” she feels a cup pressed to her lips, and drinks greedily.  Wylla pushes her curls back, replacing it with the cool cloth.

 

On and on she went, pushing and screaming and crying. The hours felt like a  lifetime, felt as if she was fighting a thousand battles, and it was beginning to drain her.  Sometimes she'd slip into  unconscious, before the sheer pain of it all would force her awake.  Wylla would praise her for her efforts, rewarding her with water and a cool cloth.  It dragged on, a never ending sequence of pain, fear and hope.

 

Until finally she heard it.  A tiny little wail that made her world shake.  Fatigued weighed down on her, making her drowsy and sleepy, but she could care less for sleep.  Not when her babe was finally here, for her to take and hold in her arms.  For her to love.  All the pain the birth caused seemingly forgotten. “A boy,” Wylla says, staring at him in awe, “It is a boy.”.  His cries settle down when he's finally placed in his mother's arms, wrapped in blankets.  She looks down at him, and curious blue eyes stare back at her. “It's normal for them to be that color at first, but they will change as time goes on.” Wylla informs her, but she hopes they don't.  Her fingers trace over his eyes,nose and lips and she can tell he takes after his father in them.  He grips her wandering finger, in the way that babes do and she can feel tears of joy trailing down her face.  Her hand wanders to his hair, making her freeze. How she missed it at first she does not know, for it was a shock of white, with strands of red standing out amongst it, but mostly silver.She stared at it in awe.

 

“Lyarra,” Robb’s voice snaps her out of her daze.  He quickly moves to her side, staring down at their child.

 

“Do you want to hold him?” she cringes at how tired and raspy her voice is, but Robb doesn't seem to care in the slightest. Instead he accepts the bundle she places in his arms. Hoping he isn't disappointed by their sons coloring.

 

His eyes studies him, much how she did, laughing with tears in his eyes when the babe grips his father's finger with his small hand. “He's beautiful, Lyarra.”.

 

Robb kisses his warm tiny cheek, never letting him go and Lyarra wouldn't ask it of him. Finally closing her eyes in peace at the sight of father and son.


	37. Chapter 37

Lyarra POV

 

The babe rested in her arms, so light and warm, as she fed him from her breast.  Her eyes never wandered from his little face or his white hair.   _ Perhaps from my mother's side, Ashara Dayne. _  She understood now. Understood why Wylla reminded her of her mother.  She was a servant of Starfall, most likely served Ashara Dayne when she lived.  Why father always looked at her with sad eyes, for she reminded him of the woman he couldn't have, reminded him of her killing herself for it.  Why Oberyn sometimes looked the same, they may have been friends.  

 

Her finger lightly trailed through his hair curiously.  ‘ _ You will know me, you will have a mother.’ _ . He didn't look like her or Robb, how she had hoped, but she loved him all the same.

 

“What do you plan to name him?” Wylla stares at him, eyes filled with glee. Lyarra wasn't sure about that yet.  She could name him several things. Brandon, Jon, or even Rickard.  All traditional northern names held by the men of House Stark.  Yet he didn't look the part, he was a Dayne through and through, all in but name.  They said the Sword of the Morning had white hair and eyes so blue they seemed purple.  Sometimes he’d look a Targaryen himself.  _ Arthur _ . “Arthur, after my uncle,” Wylla had smiled at first, before she became puzzled.

 

“Uncle? I wasn't aware that Lord Stark had a brother named Arthur,” a frown began to form on her brown face.

 

“Well, of course he doesn't.  I speak of my other Uncle, Arthur Dayne.” she moves to speak eyes wide, but Lyarra halts her, “There's no need to hide it any longer Wylla. I know who my mother is.” the woman goes pale at that.

 

“You think that--Who told you that? Your mother is not Ashara Dayne!” it was her turn to be puzzled, if it wasn't Ashara Dayne then who was it? “ Your mother was…” she stops, before looking around the room as if someone might hear, leaning in closer. “Lyanna. Your mother is Lyanna.” her mind does a double take at that.

 

“I never took you as one to jest, Wylla,” she tries to say humorously, yet it comes out as anything but humorous. 

 

“I was there when she gave birth to you, saw as she held you in her arms, making her brother promise,” her throat goes dry at that, but she doesn't reach for the pitcher of water near by, not with Arthur in her arms.

 

“Promise what?”

 

“To protect you,” her confusion morphed into anger, she looked down at her son in hopes to calm herself.  Looked at his fair hair and blue eyes. 

 

“Protect me from what,” she means for it to come out as harsh, but it sounds weak to her ears.

 

“From the wrath of the king. Because of who your father was, because of who you are,” she looks up from Arthur, meeting those brown eyes. ‘ _ Who my father was,’ _ who is her father? It isn't Brandon Stark or Eddard Stark.  Lyarra already knew, the name lingered about like a sickness, but she dare not think it or say it.

 

“Who...who am I?” she fears the answer, dreads it, but ask anyway.  To know the truth, the real truth.

 

She leans in even closer, face a few inches apart, “Visenya,” the name makes her blood go cold, “Visenya of House Targaryen.” she leans away, breathing out, as if the words were heavy. As if it caused her exhaustion from merely speaking them.  She nods numbly, not knowing what to do with the truth that now faced her.  

 

Not Lyarra Snow, bastard daughter of Eddard Stark or Brandon Stark. Not the daughter of Ashara Dayne or some fisherman's daughter or camp follower. But Visenya, the daughter of Lyanna, the daughter of… she dare not think his name.  All the north knew of  _ him _ . Were constantly reminded of what he did, of what he caused.  She noticed Wylla never said Sand or Snow but Targaryen, as in the actual Targaryen name. Was the story told even the truth? Targaryen. Not Sand, not Snow, but Targaryen.  ‘ _ Meaning it was all a lie. And father- no, not father-Lord Stark knew.  He knew, and that is why he looked at me with so much sorrow.  Because of what I represented to him, because the cause of my birth and what it did to the realm.  Because of a lie.  A lie within a lie, and several more to go.’ _ .

  
Lyarra held her son closer, never wanting to let go, hoping Robb would return soon.


	38. Chapter 38

Hey all!

 

I know this isn't a new chapter and this is probably the last thing you want to see right now, but I feel like I have to get it out there and it wouldn't sit well with me to keep you guys in the dark.  So if you haven't seen the chapter note on Chapter seven of The Burning Tower this will be 'new' news for you.  Here it goes.

 

Welcome Home Snow is going on a hiatus. I know you're probably thinking "but hasn't it already been going on hiatus for the past 10 months??" and I don't blame you for thinking it, but here me out.  I know you all love this story so much, some of you have been reading it since I first posted on here, and I feel like crap for doing this but I can't continue on right now.  Over the past year, and a little before that, I had come to look over my own writing and found myself _wanting._ I mean, sometimes I can barely open this story without cringing and backing away altogether.  I feel like there is so much more that could have been done.  That I could have done better with the characters, better with the plot, better with everything.  And I feel like if I continue on with this, in the condition that the story is in, I wouldn't be giving you my all, my best.  And I know it's just fan-fiction, but I take writing seriously, and I want to be good.  Writing fan-fiction and playing in someone else sandbox (D&D and GRRM) helps me grow as a writer and become good. This, in my opinion, is not good. And I feel like I would be doing a great disservice to all of you if I continued working on something that I disfavor, because I wouldn't be giving you my best.  It would be like working a job I hate and we all know how that can be like sometimes. 

So, in short, this work is going on a hiatus until I finish The Burning Tower and The Death of Duty;The Bane of Honor, the latter I will be collaborating with @BySpaceByTime once they finish the prequels: Bondage and another unknown work for fem Jon. (You should definitely read those by the way for the upcoming The Death of Duty; The Bane of Honor).  Once I finish these, I will go back to Welcome Home Snow better than I was when I first started it, and I will redo the hell out of it because you guys deserve my best not my worst.

I understand if you quit this altogether, I will not hold it against you, but I just can't continue the story in the direction it's going. This is all I have to say about Welcome Home Snow, but if you guys have any questions feel free to ask. I will answer as best as I can.

 


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